


Domestic Bliss

by hannah_baker



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Cuddling & Snuggling, Dirty Talk, Eating Disorders, Fluff, M/M, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, sleep fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-06
Updated: 2012-08-20
Packaged: 2017-11-03 03:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 28,837
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hannah_baker/pseuds/hannah_baker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Who are we kidding? They sleep with guns under their pillows. This shit ain't bliss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Alarm

**Author's Note:**

> Jim & Seb through the eyes of a sucker for fluff. So... mean fluff? 
> 
> This isn't so much a multi-chaptered cohesive story as it is a series of somewhat chronological vignettes of the domestic variety. What Jim and Seb do when they're not killin' folks. 
> 
> Trigger warning: Jim has an eating disorder. It's not a huge part of the story, but it's present, so skip this if you'll have an issue.
> 
> Read it in Chinese [here!](http://www.jjwxc.net/oneauthor.php?authorid=716742) Translated by keimi <3

It seemed to everyone, even to himself - especially perhaps to himself - that Jim Moriarty never slept. He didn’t remember falling asleep, being asleep, or waking up, but he also didn’t remember anything after two in the morning, when the action was over, and he supposed he must have fallen asleep.

Sebastian’s arm was heavy around him, his back pressed against the larger man’s chest, and he was temporarily made uncomfortable by the tenderness of the moment. Sleeping Sebastian holding him close. This wasn’t anything close to how their relationship really was. This was just a man passed out next to him.

Jim slid his lithe body out from under Sebastian’s arm, and shifted over to the edge of the bed where it had been pressed against the wall. Sebastian stayed asleep. He wasn’t naturally a heavy sleeper, but then again, they had only really been asleep for - Jim pulled his phone out from under his pillow to check - five hours. He would still be working on his REM sleep. Jim wasn’t sure why he didn’t normally get any REM sleep. Was that what made him feel this way all the time?

He pulled himself into a sitting position, legs tucked under him in a pretzel, and watched Sebastian sleep. He watched Sebastian’s lungs suck in and push out air, over and over again, in the constant and boring repetition of breathing.

Jim was exhausted by how _ordinary_ breathing was.

He leaned over his lover, kissing his rough cheek before sitting up again, back pressed up against the wall, bracing. He stretched out his legs, and placed the bottoms of his feet on Sebastian’s chest, one up under his sagging top arm against his collar bone, and one on his flat stomach. And pushed. Hard.

Sebastian was a larger man than Jim, but support of the wall gave him the leverage necessary. Sebastian’s sleeping body ungracefully clunked off the edge of the bed, head hitting the edge of the side table on the way down.

Jim got out of bed, stepped over his lover, and walked into the bathroom to brush his teeth.

“Fuck!” Sebastian shouted. “Damnit, you have got to stop doing this shit.” Jim didn’t answer. Sebastian took a moment to himself to pull himself together, to gather his bearings. He shook his head and ran his fingers through his blond hair to find a bump rising. He didn’t show any pain on his face.

He was at Jim’s apartment. It was never mentioned that Sebastian has no other place to live. That this was the place he came when the day was done, whether or not Jim was there with him. Behind the door to this flat was the place where everything he owns exists. He has his own damn key. In anyone else’s world, this would be Jim and Sebastian’s apartment. But because his beau, his boss, was Jim Moriarty, the apartment was in no way his.

And that was okay with Sebastian. Jim needed to call this apartment his own. Jim had issues with power dynamics, evidenced plainly by the none-too-gentle wake up call. Sebastian must have gone a little too far the night before. If they went to sleep with Jim feeling insecure about who was in charge, Sebastian knew what was coming when the sun rose.

And that was okay with Sebastian. From where he was situated on the bedroom floor, he could see the back of his boss through the bathroom door, see the marks in his skin that he had put there. Bruises forming. His eyes lingered longest on the ones that clearly denoted his unrelenting grip on Jim’s hips.

He watched as Jim carefully doled out toothpaste to his brush. The man and his hygiene. Sebastian pulled himself to his feet, and walked up behind Jim, with a dignity that suggested an alarm clock, not a bitter boyfriend.

He placed his hands on Jim’s hips, over the forming bruise marks, and though Sebastian knew that Jim would never admit to this, he could feel his body relax to his own. Sebastian pressed his chest to Jim’s back, staring over Jim’s head to meet his gaze in the mirror. Jim’s eyes met his, but he kept brushing his teeth. Sebastian knew he wouldn’t be getting an apology, but that’s not why he was here.

He pressed his fingers into Jim’s tender skin for one brief moment, before reaching up and grabbing both of Jim’s wrists, his toothbrush clattering to the ground. Jim would throw it away and open a new one, Sebastian knew. Germaphobe.  

He held Jim’s wrists to his side, feeling his boss making minute movements to ascertain how serious his grip was. It was serious. Sebastian knew that Jim was smarter than he was - much smarter. But he also knew that Jim wasn’t physically very strong at all. He just had that quality that sent fear into the stronger man’s heart. That quality didn’t quite work right on Sebastian.

He leaned down a bit so he could press the side of his face to Jim’s, his eyes never leaving the other man’s in the mirror. “Spit,” Sebastian instructed, pressing his body harder into Jim’s, forcing the man closer to the sink. The look on Jim’s face turned petulant for a second, then returned to his emotionless glare.

“For godsake, Jim, spit your damn toothpaste out.” He couldn’t help how his grip tightened on the smaller man’s thin wrists. There would be bruises there too. Jim wouldn’t mind though. The unspoken rule was: As long as a suit would cover the marks, Sebastian was free to make them.

Jim’s face remained still. A silent protest. A power assertion of his own.

“If you don’t spit your fucking toothpaste out James Moriarty,” Sebastian hissed in his ear, “I will spit it out for you.”

Jim leaned forward and spat in the sink. “I’m sure your brain must have stopped before you said that to assert the incredible stupidity and impossibility of your statement. Then again perhaps your brain is incapable of processing information that quickly,” he said, and Sebastian knew that the only reason he had relented was to chide him.

Now that Jim was toothpaste free, Sebastian spun him around, grasped both of Jim’s wrists behind his back in one of his hands, and used the force of his hips to pin Jim to the sink, the counter cutting into Jim’s arms above where Sebastian had his hold on him.

“Now that we’re done with that,” Sebastian said, letting his free hand slide up Jim’s arm, over his shoulder, and finally settle in a firm grip on his throat that could only in this case be called romantic, “we can get to the real meat of the issue.”

Jim’s had pulled his head up and away from Sebastian’s grip, but Sebastian needed only to lean down a bit to capture Jim’s lips with his own. A chaste kiss. Just a reminder.

“Seb,” Jim breathed as he finally let his body struggle a bit.

At this point, Sebastian was jut proving his point. He moved again, shifting Jim so that he was pressed chest first against the wall, his wrists still in the grip of only one of Sebastian’s hands, Sebastian’s body again pressed flush against the other man’s back.

“Yes, love?” Sebastian asked, just a whisper in Jim’s ear.

“If you don’t let me go, I will be eating your heart on rye for lunch.” Jim could be so sweet.

 Sebastian clicked his tongue. “Darling, you know heart goes better on sourdough,” he replied, licking a line on his boss’ neck. “Also,” he added, “I will be sleeping against the wall from now on.”

“Sebastian, you are specifically sharing a bed with me in order to be the first person to get shot if anyone breaks in.”

“The purpose of my being in your bed didn’t seem that specific last night,” Sebastian purred into Jim’s ear, and despite himself, saw Jim blush. Quite the rare prize.

“You don’t want me to take away all of your nice privileges, do you my sweet?” Jim asked back. Sebastian was more or less a kept man. He had a debit card with an allowance. He was not allowed to keep property for himself. He did have his own PO box, but he was smart enough to know that it was more than easily accessible to Jim.

“I just want you to know,” Sebastian said, kissing the skin behind Jim’s ear, “that I know who’s in charge. I know whose criminal plans pay for my clothes, my food, and the roof over my head. I know whose mind keeps me from getting bored.”

“And it is indeed nice to hear,” Jim said, making an effort to stretch out the strained muscles in his neck, but not finding any place to move his head to.

“But,” Sebastian said, pressing his hips meaningfully into Jim’s ass, “Just remember I am literally made out of muscle. And while you may be the planner, I’m the one closing the deal.”

With that, he let go of Jim’s wrists, curled an arm around Jim’s body and slipped his hand into Jim’s black boxers for a brief squeeze of his half hard cock. He placed a kiss and a bite on Jim’s shoulder and walked out of the bathroom.


	2. Skinny

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're all bones, sir.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning: EatingDisorder!Jim

The flat was small, but they didn’t need a lot of space. The ceilings were high, the floors were cement, the decor was modern if sparse. There was not a single sentimental photograph in the entire place. Neither of the men living there cared for that sort of thing.

The living room was, for once on this Tuesday afternoon, occupied by the both of them, neither having anywhere to go, nor anything to do. Sebastian lay stretched out on the couch enjoying an afternoon off before his assignment that night ( _I should clean my riffle soon_ , he thought), and he let his eyelids drift closed, something he rarely did around Jim Morarity, especially when the other man was still awake (and Jim was always awake).

Jim sat far forward on his white leather chez lounge, and hovered over a nearly ice cold cup of tea on the coffee table. His eyes were fixed on the large flat screen TV in front of him, split into four sections. Two angles of Sherlock Holmes, sitting in his kitchen with a pipet and an array of petri dishes, occasionally fixing his gaze into his microscope. The other two trailed John Watson as he left the surgery.

“Sherlock Holmes hasn’t moved out of his seat in four hours,” Sebastian told his boss. “Can we please watch actual TV for once?”

“There is no actual TV to watch. You know this is only wired to my surveillance team.” Jim’s voice was cold and tired. He had been sounding like this a lot lately.

Sebastian sighed and kept his eyes closed. He didn’t care about Holmes’ experiments on dirt or pond scum or bacteria or whatever he was doing. He did care about the fact that Jim couldn’t relax to save his life. There was literally nothing for him to do until the sun set, yet he couldn’t turn his focus off.

The blond heard his boss stand up from his seat, and start pacing in front of the TV. “I wonder how easy it would be to wire this to my phone,” he mused. “I’ll get on that tomorrow. The code shouldn’t be difficult.”

And then out of nowhere, Jim’s weight landed squarely on Sebastian, a loud ‘oof’ escaping Sebastian’s lungs. Jim was a cat. He needed affection, but he needed it sparingly, and he was going to choose when that meant - and then demand to be stroked.

He reclined easily on top of Sebastian, letting his head rest against Seb’s collar bone, as Sebastian grabbed Jim’s hips to adjust them both into an actually comfortable position.

“Shit, sir,” Sebastian said, his fingertips staying in contact with Jim’s hips. “You are all bones.”

Jim was in his lounge outfit, long loose-fitting pajamas that pooled at his feet, a soft cotton t-shirt, and a silk dressing gown that had fallen open and away from him when he chose to recline on Sebastian. Sebastian was fully cognizant of the influence Sherlock Holmes’ own wardrobe had on Jim. He wasn’t sure if Jim knew he was basically wearing Sherlock’s pajamas however.

“Yes, I do seem to be getting progressively skinnier,” Jim replied nonchalantly.

Sebastian’s hands dipped beneath the waist of the other man’s pajamas, and he trailed his fingers over the prominent bump of his boss’ hip bones. He pulled them back out, and let his hands skim up the smaller man’s stomach, dipping down below where a healthy stomach should be, and then arriving at Jim’s ribs.

He ghosted a finger over each rib individually, feeling their articulation, and not believing that he hadn’t noticed this earlier. He’d noticed Jim’s weight loss, but he hadn’t thought it had been this serious. A nicely tailored suit and some neglect on Sebastian’s part had done wonders.

Jim pressed the side of his face into Sebastian’s neck, his eyes still trained to the telly.

“When was the last time you ate something, sweetheart?” Sebastian asked gently. He managed to say ’sweetheart’ in a very manly tone.

“Ugh, eating. I have become completely disinterested in food. I do believe that I have eaten everything I wish to eat in my life. I’m done with it.”

“Well, that explains the hips and the ribs,” Sebastian said, his hands touching the respective body parts upon being called out.

“‘Bastian, don’t get upset. I’m fine.”

“Boss, eating isn’t a thing that we do because it’s interesting. It’s a thing that we do because it’s life-sustaining.” He let his arms wrap around Jim’s chest gently, feeling concern welling inside of him. He seemed completely smaller over all. Everywhere. “If you want to live to bring down the entire British government, you’re going to have to have some lunch.”

“Seems like such a bother,” Jim replied, sighing.

“I will personally make you food whenever you want it,” Sebastian offered. He liked to cook alright, and was willing to do anything to help Jim back up to his normal weight. “I’ll make you a sandwich now, if you like.” He made a move to shift Jim off him, but Jim swatted at him.

“Don’t move,” Jim said, his voice quiet but authoritative. “I just got comfortable.”

Sebastian couldn’t help but smile. His relationship with his boss was seven parts business, three parts sex. There was hardly room for physical affection in that mix, so this moment with a reasonably calm (though Sebastian could still feel his heart racing) and cuddly Jim was more than he hoped for this afternoon.

Jim shifted his body so that instead of being pressed flush like spoons, his back was against the couch, head on Sebastian’s collar. Sebastian ran his fingers through Jim’s hair, his nails leaving chilly trails through Jim’s perfectly coiffed ‘do. But for once, Jim didn’t complain. He even let out a little sigh. Strange.

Sebastian clung to the warm feather weight of his lover in his arms, and turned to watch Sherlock on the television. John Watson was just getting home, all four camera angles now fixed on 221b Baker. Sherlock didn’t look up with John walked into the kitchen, though by the looks of John’s lip movements, he was trying to get his attention.

Sebastian felt a very small and very fleeting pang of sympathy for the doctor. He knew how that felt, to love a brilliant man who never gave you the time of day. Who only saw you as a tiny assistant, or a piece of ass. Not as a human.

Jim’s breathing evened out, and stretched into long sleeping breaths. Jim always needed to catch up on his sleep, but he generally wasn’t one for a kip on the couch.

Sebastian wouldn’t disturb him yet though. He might be an assassin, but he wasn’t an asshole.

Sebastian let his hand run over Jim’s sleeping shoulder, down the notches of his spine. His thumb swept over the crest of Jim’s hip, and had he been another man, would have started crying.

How could he have not noticed this? They had been busy lately. Sebastian and Jim working odd hours, crashing for small pieces of sleep instead of a whole event. They hadn’t even had proper sex in two weeks it seemed.

He brought his hand up to Jim’s face, his thumb finding the hollow of his cheek under the subtle stubble. He’d shave before putting on his suit for tonight’s events. If he was even leaving the house. Perhaps he would just conduct his puppets from the phone again. He really only shaved anymore for Sherlock Holmes.

Sebastian would let his boss sleep for another hour, and would keep his eye on Sherlock - who was just finally realizing he should greet his flatmate with a kiss - and above all, would make Jim the best fucking sandwich ever when he woke up.


	3. Bed Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time For Bed is law.

Sebastian hated sleeping on the couch. It was one of those modern white leather situations with squared angles and chrome legs. Jim was obviously not a couch lounger, or enjoyed aesthetics over comfort. Sebastian would have gladly chucked it out the window.

Yet here he was, another late night dosing on the couch, working up a fierce neckache and longing for the beat-up couch that he used to have at his old flat before his old flat was unceremoniously disposed of from his life - or better yet, some real, actual sleep in his bed.

The keys of Jim’s keyboard clicked quickly, as he pounded out an e-mail or some more computer code. Sebastian never asked anymore. He never got an answer. Only Jim Moriarty had security clearance to Jim Moriarty’s brain.

He estimated that it had been fifteen minutes since the last time he had whined to his boss about being tired. He would let himself whine again in fifteen more. Even half-hour intervals of complaint.

Because here was the deal: Sebastian was allowed to go to sleep when Jim decided it was time for both of them to go to sleep. Sebastian had no idea how the man had existed so long without a full-time companion.

Jim’s computer finally clicked closed in a sweet show of pity. Sebastian heard the other man sigh before he announced it: “Time for bed.” He put his computer back on the desk in the corner of the room, and wandered into the bedroom. Sebastian pulled himself off of the couch, stretched his pained neck, and let his bare feet pad quickly in Jim’s wake.

Sebastian had brushed his teeth at one in the am, two hours ago, so all he had to do was strip to his underwear (and throw his clothes in the laundry bin lest he get skinned by the clean freak who was Mr. Morarity), and flop on the bed.

Jim on the other hand went though a complicated pre-bed process. He folded his dirty clothes before placing them on top of Sebastian’s own wrinkled pile in the hamper, washed his face, brushed his teeth, put on some kind of goddamn night cream that Seb always made fun of him for, and pulled on his soft cotton pajama pants before he finally clicked the lamp off in their room, and climbed into bed.

Or rather, nudged Sebastian onto his back with his knee (an easy task for a man with a willing participant) and climbed on top of him. His legs found themselves on either side of Sebastian’s waist, and he leaned easily over his second in command, lining their lips up perfectly for their first kiss since that morning. They really weren’t that affectionate of a couple, especially when Jim was working. Which was always.

Sebastian wrapped on arm around Jim’s waist pulling their bodies flush with one another, and let his other hand rest on the back of Jim’s neck, not influencing the pressure of the kiss, just a reminder. He gave Jim this small bit of control before shifting their weight, and rolling Jim onto his back.

Sebastian knew that the relationship that he had with his boss, with his lover, with his friend (friend?), was not a normal scenario. This was sort of a ‘round-the-clock job, sort of a friends-with-benefits situation, but it was a moving target. Sebastian could never really put his finger on the nature of it.

He had barely started kissing Jim, who felt _nice_ and warm and small underneath him (though he had gained some of his weight back due to Sebastian trying to make food quick and easy and delicious, and as invisible and inconsequential as possible), when Jim planted his hand on Sebastian’s chest and pushed him away.

“Okay, stop. Good night,” he said, rolling over on his side away from Sebastian and closing his eyes.

And Sebastian’s frustration flood gates broke open. He sighed deeply, and got out of the bed. Jim turned around glaring at him.

“Sebastian, it’s time for bed. Get back in.” His tone was hard and incredulous. Time For Bed was law.

“I’m going to spend the night with the couch I think. At least it will give me the time of day.”

“Seb, what?” Jim asked, clearly annoyed.

“Jim, look,” Sebastian said sighing, and resting the weight of his tired body on the door frame, his exhaustion giving him the same kind of emotional courage that alcohol would. “I know I’m a man and I’m your employee and so I shouldn’t say these things, but I’m sick of this. I need some affection. I understand that the sexual nature of our relationship is built into this deal because it’s convenient, and so I have no reason to sate any of my needs outside of this flat. I get that this relationship is not about love. I get that, and I’m fine with it. I even prefer that calculated bullshit to a real relationship sometimes.” Sebastian paused. Being emotional with James Moriarty was new territory for him.

“But I need more than that. I need to be able to kiss you sometimes, put my arms around you sometimes. The only time when I’m allowed to kiss you if we aren’t currently having sex is when you’re exhausted right before bed, or early in the morning before we both get our bearings. That’s the only time I can get anything out of you without a glare.” He took a deep breath.

“So this isn’t working for me. I need more than sex.” He looked at Jim, visible in the dark room to Sebastian’s huge, dark-adjusted pupils. Jim’s eyes were as dark as always, but he watched the man sigh.

“You think this isn’t about love, Moran?” Jim asked him from his place in the sheets. Sebastian watched as Jim slid out of his bed, limbs slightly uncoordinated from exhaustion, and met Sebastian at the edge of their bedroom, the cusp of Seb’s leaving. Jim’s hands pulled Sebastian’s face toward his own, connecting with a kiss that was slow and tender and, could it be? emotional.

Sebastian’s body was still, aching to embrace his lover, but he held himself back. They were both so tired they were nearly intoxicated on it. Sebastian didn’t want to hear un-hearable things tonight.

“You arse, I tell you I love you every night,” Jim said, landing one last clumsy kiss on Sebastian’s lips before retreating back to bed. He pulled the covers up around his shoulders in a gesture that Sebastian thought was somewhat dramatic before demanding Sebastian join him.

“Excuse me,” Sebastian said, “but I have never heard a declaration of love from your lips, my dear.”

“Every night I say, ‘Sebastian, you belong to me.’ What else do you think that means?” Jim asked him.

“You’re impossible,” Sebastian said, and climbed back into their bed (into the spot on the outside that he was still sleeping on despite the talk they had months ago about it), but he turned his back on Jim. He knew he was being stubborn, but he couldn’t control it. Jim had sewn this petulance in him, and was now reaping.

“Seb, darling, you’re doing it wrong,” Jim sing-songed to him in the dark.

“I’m sleeping, love,” he replied, his air coming out harsh and mocking on the last word.

“But _I’m_ not.”

Sebastian smiled. Again, he could not imagine Jim’s life before him. And he wasn’t just being arrogant. This was, in fact, the reason Sebastian thought Jim wouldn’t let him go to sleep without him. Jim couldn’t sleep without Sebastian’s arms around him. For such an unaffectionate man, he was quite needy.

“I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you’re searching for, honey,” Sebastian said, playing dumb.

“You’re not seriously going to make me say it. Isn’t ‘I love you’ enough for one night.”

“Say it.”

“You already know what the issue is here. That’s why you’re here. Because I don’t have to explain this crap to you. I pay you so I don’t have to explain.”

“You pay me to shoot people and to be shot for you in the unlikely event of a break-in assassination or whatever you think is going to happen. You don’t pay me for this,” he said, finally turning toward his boss and placing a hand high up on his thigh. “Say it.”

Jim sighed. “You fucking know that I can’t fucking sleep without your fucking arms around me,” he said through his clenched teeth. “Damnit.”

Sebastian smiled. A victory. They were few and far between, so he liked to keep hold of them to savor at a later date. A rainy day. He gave Jim’s hip a pat requesting Jim turn over, but before he did, he gave Seb a frown, and kissed him. Even the small chaste kiss was welcome at this point in the conversation.

Jim flipped over and scooted back toward Sebastian, who wrapped his arms protectively around the smaller man. They fit together perfectly, back-to-chest, and Sebastian took a minute to sync up their breaths before kissing the back of Jim’s head. “I love you too.”


	4. The Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It should be known that Jim Moriarty wasn’t normally that great of a kisser.

For the first time in weeks, Sebastian woke up in Jim’s bed alone. The spot along the wall where Jim usually slept was ice cold. He must have been gone a while.

With no hope of actually seeing Jim that day (he frequently made himself scarce in order to take care of errands that weren’t “need-to-know” for Sebastian), Seb rustled out of the sheets, took care of his morning bathroom-ing, and, still clad in only his boxer briefs, walked into the kitchen.

Despite Sebastian only getting about seven hours of sleep it was the early afternoon, confirmed by the slant of light through their west-facing floor-to-ceiling windows. The rays came down hard and harsh on the back of Jim Moriarty, who sat perched on the counter top of their kitchen island, a newspaper folded in one hand, a cup of tea in the other.

“Good morning, Sebastian,” Jim said, neither looking up from his paper, nor turning toward him.

Sebastian was a bit confused, mostly by the impeccable suit Jim was wearing. Perhaps he had already been up and accomplished something today. Usually Jim woke Sebastian up at least, abhorring even the idea of anyone having a lie-in.

“Busy day already, boss?” Sebastian asked, walking around the center island partly to face Jim, and partly to make some toast. He smiled at his favorite criminal, though Jim still wouldn’t train his gaze on him, and got a loaf out of the bread box, depositing two slices of thick wheat bread into the toaster.

“Come here,” Jim said, throwing the paper down on the counter and setting his tea cup next to it. Sebastian was already very close to Jim in their small kitchen, so he did little more than turn and shift his weight toward the suit-clad man.

“Closer,” Jim said, and Sebastian took a step to stand in front of him.

“No, Sebastian,” he said, parting his legs to expose the counter behind them. “Closer.”

Sebastian was a little confused, but smiled as he closed the distance between him and Jim, and Jim’s arms wrapped around his neck.

With the aid of the counter’s height, Jim was nearly face-to-face with Sebastian, a position achieved most regularly by being horizontal. But Sebastian was still a trifle taller, and Jim leaned up a tiny bit in order to press his lips to Sebastian’s.

It should be known that Jim Moriarty wasn’t normally that great of a kisser. Sebastian loved it when Jim kissed him because _Jim was kissing him_ , not because it was a particularly incredible kissing experience. He was bored or disinterested, clumsy or too aggressive.

However, Jim’s poor kissing skills seem to be completely for lack of trying. Jim and Sebastian had never really made out before, in the regular sense of the term. Sometimes Sebastian ambushed Jim’s lips before bed, but it rarely lasted more than a few minutes. And then there were the sex kisses, which Sebastian could hardly bring to mind right now. How could you think of kisses when you could be thinking of sex?

But, as Sebastian knew all too well, let Jim concentrate on a task, and he excels. His lips moved against Sebastian’s skillfully, starting with slow, soft, individual kisses that lasted for long moments, and held both the promise of more and the threat of absence in the pauses between. His hands twined in Sebastian’s hair and pulled gently at his nape. Sebastian’s arms surrounded Jim tentatively, savoring every second of this moment.

Sebastian expected this to end quickly, this odd whim that’s caught Jim in the middle of the afternoon. But it didn’t. Jim’s slow kisses began to progress to deeper, smoother kisses, a tiny bit of bottom-lip-sucking, and a gentle nip here and there. Sebastian had no idea Jim could use his teeth in a manner that didn’t draw blood.

Sebastian slipped his arms inside Jim’s unbuttoned suit coat, and wrapped them around his waist, feeling heat radiating through Jim’s dress shirt. He tugged Jim closer, until his ass was at the edge of the counter, his body weight now partially dependent on Sebastian’s support.

When Sebastian pulled their stomachs together, feeling the other man’s shallow breaths, he heard Jim make a sound.

Now, Jim makes plenty of sounds. Especially those of the sexy variety. But he doesn’t make this sound. Jim Moriarty is _not_ a name-moaner. “Seb…” he practically groaned through their kiss, and Sebastian felt an immediate surge of lust. He was a morning-sex kind of guy to begin with, but this was too much.

Sebastian pulled away in shock, his eyes meeting Jim’s through his eyelashes, vision clouded. His breath was shallow and heavy and he was so horny that he felt almost dizzy. He took a deep breath and rested his forehead on Jim’s shoulder.

Jim made a contented little purring sound and let his arms rest lazily on Sebastian’s shoulders. “Well then, it looks like I have another thing to put on my list of easy ways to make you happy,” Jim said with a chuckle.

Sebastian turned his head, still letting Jim’s shoulder bear the weight of his skull, and planted feather light kisses to Jim’s neck. “Sebastian,” Jim whispered, his voice husky and dark.

Sebastian broke away suddenly, leaving Jim to nearly tip off the counter before gaining his own equilibrium. “Jesus shit, Jim,” he huffed, hands on his hips, trying to calm himself down.

He took a step away and ran his hands through his hair, as Jim pulled himself into a proper sitting position on the island.

“Isn’t that what you wanted?” Jim said, picking his tea back up and taking a sip. He made a face at the now cold beverage, and Sebastian laughed.

“Yes. Yes, that is exactly what I wanted. God, that’s what I wanted,” he replied. He hit the switch on the electric tea kettle behind him, and stepped back into Jim’s embrace. His toast might be cold and useless now, but he could still make Jim a fresh cup of tea. Especially since he was being so nice this morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if I'll write more of these. We'll see what happens. At least there's no excellent WIP cliffhanger that will never get resolved though, amirite?


	5. Dye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim has a meeting tomorrow, but his hair looks like shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More of Jim's terrible relationship with food, so trigger warning for eating disorders.

“Here, wear this one,” Sebastian said, pulling an old ratty white shirt out of the dresser and tossing it at Jim. Of course James Moriarty didn't have a single old t-shirt to his name. He pulled it over his head, hair freshly clean and bone-dry, and Sebastian let out a chuckle. The old shirt that was getting a bit tight on him practically sagged on Jim.

Sebastian playfully pinched at Jim’s basically non-existent stomach before wrapping his arms around Jim’s waist and pulling him into a kiss. They were getting better at this, the kissing thing, and Sebastian loved it. He loved feeling Jim’s hands trailing up his broad, bare shoulders, he loved Jim’s perpetually mint-flavored mouth, he even loved being able to stand so close to him that their sodding leg hair brushed together. He mostly loved the fact that Jim wasn’t always the one to break the kiss anymore.

“Okay,” Sebastian said, pulling away from Jim and giving his butt a pat to send him in the right direction. “On the stool.”

They walked into their tiny bathroom and Jim settled himself on a stool from their breakfast bar that had been placed in front of their sink. The equipment was on the counter. Hair dye, developer bottle, application brush, tub of Vaseline, plastic gloves.

“Don’t fuck this up,” Jim said, giving Sebastian a hard look. This was his hair after all. His _hair_.

Sebastian just smiled. He stood behind Jim, catching his eyes in the mirror before placing his hands on Jim’s shoulders. A few months ago, Jim had insisted that Sebastian’s hair had gotten too long and had booked him a haircut at a salon. A quite posh salon actually.

Sebastian preferred the have-a-friend-do-it-in-the-yard-with-a-clippers haircut method, or the kind of barbershop cut that costs a fiver. He had never been to a salon before, and he probably wouldn’t go back. But god, the woman who cut his hair gave him a shoulder rub and a scalp massage, and he practically melted into a puddle under his chair.

His hands worked Jim’s tense shoulders first, and felt Jim relax into the high back of the stool. “Mmmm,” Jim purred, his eyes falling closed involuntarily. Sebastian could give a decent back rub, his strong hands kneading knots out of Jim’s upper back and shoulders, before moving up his neck.

Sebastian stepped closer to Jim, nearly flush, as he pulled Jim’s head to his bare chest, anchoring Jim there before he began to gently pull his fingernails from his hairline back. Jim let out another soft moan.

“So far,” Jim reported, “I do not regret this decision.”

“Good to hear,” Sebastian said, continuing his scalp massage slowly for a moment before leaning down to kiss the top of Jim’s head. “Now to the main event,” he said, stepping around Jim to the counter. He took the tube of dye, pierced the foil seal, and squeezed it into the bottle of developer. He capped it and shook it, turning toward Jim to size up the situation.

“They say to get the hairline area with Vaseline,” Sebastian said, having diligently read the instructions before starting this mess. “You know, so there isn’t dye all over your head.”

“I don’t want dye anywhere except my hair, Sebastian, and I am absolutely serious about this. I have to look nice tomorrow.”

“Warning registered, sir,” Sebastian said, setting down the thoroughly shaken bottle of dye and picking up the tub of Vaseline. He tossed the cap in the sink, and pulled a glob out on his finger. This shit was just gross. Jim noticed his hesitance.

“It’s only Vaseline, Sebastian. Just do it.”

Sebastian spread the greasy goo liberally at the edge of Jim’s hairline, his light brown roots growing in just barely, but enough to be unacceptable. Sebastian’s hands shook a little. When he was on a job, a shaky hand could mean missing his mark. Missing his mark was beyond unacceptable. Sebastian thought messing up Jim Moriarty’s hair was about even on that list. He tried to concentrate.

“Oh God, I look like a prat,” Jim said, looking in the mirror.

“With all due respect,” Sebastian said, wiping his fingers off on a tissue, “shut up. It’s three in the morning, you’re in your own sodding bathroom, and I’ve seen you look much, much worse. You have no one to impress here.”

“I need to find an all-night hair salon,” Jim mused, looking a bit anxious at the bottle of dye in Sebastian’s hand. “I’ve never been Vaseline’d by a professional before.”

“I’m not sure if you’re so incredibly vain that you insist on middle of the night hair dying, or if you must not be vain in the least because you’re making me do it.” Sebastian paused to pretend to think a bit. “Never mind. I’ve settled on incredibly vain.” He’d seen Jim eye-fucking himself in the mirror in the morning, still naked after a shower.

Jim scowled at him. Though that might just be the default expression for Jim’s face.

“Have some faith. I know the directions by heart,” Sebastian said. He could see that he wasn’t encouraging trust in his partner. He stepped close to Jim, and Jim parted his legs on the stool to give Sebastian better access.

Sebastian didn’t put the gloves on. Gloves were for wimps. He had just started to squeeze the dye into Jim’s hair, pushing it around with the brush, when he felt a hand on his hip. He jumped a bit at the unexpected contact. He must have been unknowingly focused on his task. Jim leaned forward enough to press a kiss to Sebastian’s chest, leaving a smear of Vaseline and hair dye behind.

“You’d better be glad I’m not the vain fuck you are,” Sebastian said, trying to continue his procedure. But he jumped again as Jim’s other hand grasped his other hip, steady and sure. Dying hair didn’t require advanced analytical thought processes, but Sebastian was _very_ easily distracted by skin-to-skin contact. He tried to push though.

He could ignore the way Jim’s toe brushed slowly up his leg, or the contented purring Jim knew Sebastian ranked high on his list of turn-ons. But Sebastian had barely got the front section of Jim’s hair sorted when it happened. Jim’s fingers moved expertly on Sebastian’s ticklish sides, and Sebastian grappled backward, trying to both get away from Jim’s hands, and more importantly, not fuck up his boss’ hair while he did it. He shoved against the counter hard, right at the base of his back and swore.

“Goddamnit,” Sebastian said, dumping the hair dye and brush not-so-gently on the counter before catching the look in Jim’s eyes. Mischief. So this was how it was going to be. “How can you possibly be bored?” Sebastian asked, recognizing the signs of a restless Moriarty. “We took out half of the Irish mafia this evening, and tomorrow you have a Very Important Meeting regarding _I-can’t-tell-you-what_. And you have to fuck with me when I’m trying to do your hair on the three hours of sleep I got a hundred years ago?” He was exasperated. Jim looked proud of himself however.

Sebastian sighed, and moved back behind Jim, almost lazily pulling his wrists behind the chair. Jim struggled lamely, but Jim wasn’t really trying. And besides, Jim only won against Sebastian when Sebastian let him. He wasn’t letting him tonight. He grabbed the belt off the dressing gown hanging on the back of the bathroom door, and tied Jim’s wrists securely with it. If Jim wanted this to take all night, so be it. He could sit here all night.

“Are you done?” Sebastian asked, wiping the smear from Jim’s earlier kiss off his chest finally. He'd have a bit of a black mark there for a few days. When he looked back at Jim, his pleased look was gone, in favor of an impressive pout.

“You’re no fun.” Jim wiggled against his restraints, but didn’t pull too hard. Clearly he must like it. Well, Sebastian already knew he like it.

“If you don’t want me to get black hair dye all over your ears, you will sit still.”

Jim either found some patience, or thought about what his face would look like covered in dye, and sat still while Sebastian brushed the rest of the dye through his hair, being extra thorough. It felt sort of nice, actually, to have Sebastian’s full attention on him, Sebastian’s ragged, tired breath audible above his head, Sebastian’s heart beating audibly right in front of his eyes.

Sebastian was enjoying himself too (though he might have preferred to be sleeping). The act seemed strangely intimate, just the two of them in their bathroom together, Sebastian more-or-less playing with Jim’s hair. He would have never guessed that this would be in the job description. Though maybe this was more of a boyfriend duty? The separation between their romantic relationship and their professional one was getting more blurred by the day - if it had in fact ever been two separate things.

Finally, Sebastian stepped back. “Done,” he said. “Now we wait a half hour.”

“A half hour?” Jim whined, as Sebastian hopped up to sit on the counter, his feet coming to rest on Jim’s thighs.  

“You know, good things come to those who wait,” Sebastian said, leaning forward on his perch, bringing his face close to Jim’s. Jim stuck his tongue out.

“No. Good things come to me, or else.” If Jim Moriarty was ever sold in a toy shop in plastic bubble packaging, this would be the tag line. “Untie me.”

“Can you say please?” Sebastian teased.

“No.”

“Didn’t think so,” Seb said, getting down from the counter anyway and untying the knot behind Jim’s back, placing a kiss between his shoulder blades before letting his arms completely free.

Jim wandered out of the bathroom absently rubbing at his wrists, and Sebastian trailed him into the kitchen. He watched at the edge of the room as Jim riffled through the contents of the cupboards, seemingly searching for something to eat.

Sebastian didn’t like to think of himself as Jim’s keeper often, but whenever Jim approached food, Seb’s protective instincts turned to high gear. Sebastian knew that Jim wasn’t in any danger from anyone else, really. He had all the baddies on a short leash, and Sherlock Holmes in his pocket. What Sebastian was afraid of was what Jim could do to himself.

Finally Jim settled on a box of woven wheat crackers, opening the top of the box with a pop and shaking the contents a bit before selecting one cracker, closing the box again, and placing it back in the cupboard. He nibbled a corner briefly before popping the rest of it in his mouth, demolishing it in a few chews.

“Seriously?” Sebastian asked, raising his eyebrows at Jim. This was a tough love situation. Sebastian had to get a little mean.

“What?” Jim said, mouth still full of his single cracker.

“What are you eating one cracker for?”

“Late-night snack,” Jim said, muffled.

“You’re kidding me.”

“Fuck off, Sebastian," Jim said, his voice hard and irritated. "It’s half three in the morning. Even I know this isn’t proper meal time. Just a snack.”

While Sebastian may be protective of Jim, Jim was rather more protective of himself. Sebastian had heard excuses like this a thousand times. He walked over to Jim and took his face in his hands, thumbs smoothing over his cheeks. Seb leaned down to kiss him gently, Jim still attempting to chew that damned dry cracker.

“Eggs,” Sebastian said quietly, his forehead pressed to Jim’s not caring that he would have Vaseline on his face. “And bacon, and french toast, and orange juice, and maple syrup, and hash browns.” He was making himself hungry now.

“No, it’s just a Triscuit,” Jim replied, speech returned to normal now that he’d finally swallowed his cracker.

“That’s what I’m making you for breakfast tomorrow. And you will eat all of it. And it’s going to be fucking delicious.” Jim’s eyes gave Sebastian’s offer consideration.

“The kind of french toast you make out of cinnamon bread?” Jim asked after a beat, the harshness of his voice fading a little.

“Of course,” Sebastian said, glad to have peaked Jim’s interest a bit.

“And that really expensive real maple syrup from Vermont?”

“None of that high-fructose corn syrup bullshit for you, sweetheart.” He trailed his hands down Jim’s sides and rested them on Jim’s slim hips, feeling the smallness of the man he loved.

“Well, that does sound good,” Jim said. Sebastian was so excited he wanted the conversation on tape. Jim was only resistant to food because he thought it was boring. Ordinary. His relationship with food wasn’t volatile as it is with others Sebastian had known with eating disorders. It was more like non-existent. Sebastian had to remember the foods that Jim could get a bit excited about. _Maple syrup_ …

He kissed Jim again, and his boss’ arms found his neck. Though the kisses were more frequent, they still mainly came in the middle of the night. That’s when the bulk of their romance seemed to exist - and absolutely all of their sex. Sebastian was beginning to like the middle of the night a lot more.

“Look at you,” Sebastian said, grabbing Jim's chin in his fingers and rotating his head just a bit to the side. “Let’s get this shit out of your hair.”

“You had better hope I look good,” Jim said, prickling out of his softer middle-of-the-night demeanor, “or you won’t be physically able to make me breakfast tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got more coming later this week. I've gotta sleep on it and edit, blah blah. Enjoy :]


	6. Sick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even consulting criminals get sick.

There was no place for Sebastian to be comfortably sick and miserable in their apartment. There were three options for reclining: The sofa (not meant for actual comfort), the chez lounge (which he was only allowed to sit on with Jim’s permission, which in his germ-riddled state he was not getting) and the bed. 

Scratch that. There was only one option, because the bed was off-limits too. At the sound of Sebastian repeatedly blowing his nose in the middle of the night, Jim had kicked him out of their bed (or “my bed,” as Jim calls it), citing germ contamination. 

So Jim spent his night sleepless without the presence of Sebastian next to him, and Sebastian spent his night sleepless on the couch with the miserable pressure of his sinuses and the unyielding cruelty of the cushions beneath him.

Sebastian’s head pounded. He was curled on his side on the couch, trying to make his long limbs small enough to fit on it properly, one arm slung over his eyes. The sun was uncharacteristically bright and happy for London.  How awful. All Sebastian wanted to do was bury a bullet between the sun’s eyes. 

He reached down to the floor where he had collected his supplies: A now half-empty bottle of cherry cough medicine, a dwindling supply of tissues, a cold cup of tea, a plastic Tesco bag he was putting the used tissues in. 

_Tissue, for the love of god just one tissue_ , he thought, his hand splaying out trying to locate the box that had been there just minutes before. He came drastically close to knocking over his tea before finding the box. 

Empty. Shit. 

He groaned. A new box of tissues was all the way in the bathroom under the sink. Every time he stood up, his head spun. Standing was an emergencies-only maneuver to resort to, and he was trying to decide if the sudden flow of mucus from his nose was an emergency. He could just use his shirt sleeve - and risk Jim officially never touching him again. 

_Jim_. Sebastian moved the arm over his eyes just enough to peek out from under it. Jim reclined on his chez, his computer on his lap, eyes fixed on the telly. The remote he was pointing at it flicked through camera angles of Sherlock Holmes and his doctor. Sebastian could use the compassion of a doctor right now. 

“Jimmy?” Sebastian croaked, sounding a bit pathetic. 

“Mmmm?” Jim responded, turning his attention back to the screen of his computer instead of to Sebastian. 

“Can you get me that new box of tissues from the bathroom?” He tried to sound as healthy as possible. He failed. But he was surprised that Jim was even still sitting in the same room as him, though he had dragged the bottle of hand sanitizer from the kitchen into their living room and de-germed every time he heard Sebastian sneeze.

“Can’t you get it, darling, I’m busy.” His tone was level and dry. His mind was so very far away from Sebastian right now. 

“It hurts to stand up,” Sebastian complained, hoping Jim would understand. 

“You’re a big boy,” Jim replied, furiously pounding the keys on his keyboard. “You can do it yourself.” Sebastian should have known by then that Jim Moriarty didn’t _understand_. 

Ugh. Sebastian silently fumed. Being sick was bad enough, and being sick and tired and uncomfortable was about all he could bear. But being sick, tired, uncomfortable, and pissed off at Jim was not something he could handle right now. 

“I’m going to wipe my snot off on my shirt, and it might eventually, in my misery, touch the couch,” Sebastian dead-panned, his eyes on Jim’s profile. He saw Jim’s eyebrows jump. “Or one of your shirts in the hamper.”

Jim closed his computer, stood up, and walked into their room, returning with the new box of tissues. He stood a few feet away from Sebastian, nervously trying to assess the situation. Then slowly, he pulled the cardboard flap off the top of the box, and extracted a single tissue. He held it high over Sebastian’s head, eyes covered once more with his arm, and dropped it, not daring to simply hand it off. 

It drifted down to Sebastian’s face and unfortunately tickled his nose just right, prompting a sneeze. Jim jumped and dropped the box of tissues on Sebastian’s chest, retreating back to his side of the living room to perch on his own uncomfortable-looking white leather situation. He pumped a liberal amount of hand sanitizer on his hands, and rubbed it all the way to his elbows. 

Sebastian sat up gingerly to blow his nose properly, the sound freezing Jim in his skin, a look of horror on his face. Jim absolutely _loathed_ being sick, and being this close to a sick person made him uncomfortable. If the thought of Sebastian being gone for a few days wasn’t so terrible, Jim would have sent him to a hotel right away last night. Watching Sebastian drip with germs right now, however, was tipping the scales in his mind. He could book a room and have a cab in front of their building in five minutes…

Sebastian sighed contentedly and laid back down. “Thanks, baby,” he said, the tenderness of his voice hitting a strange chord inside of Jim. _Baby?_

Jim sucked in a breath, his eyes running over Sebastian’s wrecked form. He actually felt a little bad for him. Not bad enough to let him sleep in his bed, but bad enough to let him stay in the flat. At least for now.

 

*

 

Sebastian came home from his hit exhausted. He was just barely over his cold, and as soon as he could stand Jim had sent him back to work. The depth of Jim’s pity was, well, fairly shallow. His feet pounded purposefully down the hall from the lift to their door, but when Sebastian turned his key and pushed their door open, he sighed. His riffle clattered as he unceremoniously dumped the bag off his shoulder and into the front closet and looked toward the kitchen. 

“That had better not be crushing my Louis Vuitton shoes, Moran,” Jim said, voice rough and harsh, from his perch on the kitchen island. Sebastian didn’t let himself consider Jim’s position yet, the sound of his voice, and turned back to the entry to settle his gun into its proper place in the closet, on the rack so high up that Jim couldn’t reach it without a stool. First things first. 

He walked to Jim, lying prone, still in the suit he was wearing that afternoon when Sebastian had heard him sneeze right before he left for his job. His back was flush to the counter, arms splayed to his sides, knees bent so his feet were flat. 

Jim had been pretending he wasn’t sick for two days, and it had finally crushed him. 

Sebastian pressed his hand to Jim’s forehead, partially to take his temperature, and partially to soothe. Jim’s eyes snapped open in a glare. “This is your fault, Moran.” Getting last-named by Jim twice in five minutes was always a bad sign. 

“You know,” Sebastian said, a little irritated, “if you let us sleep more, our immune systems wouldn’t be so fucking useless all the time.”

Jim just rolled his eyes at him. 

Seb noticed the counter was messy - something not acceptable in the Moriarty/Moran household. The electric kettle was full of water and a tea cup sat out, an infuser with dry loose tea sitting in the bottom of it. He didn’t even get to the making of the tea before he had given up. 

Sebastian continued to stroke Jim’s forehead for a second while he thought up a game plan. Jim squirmed beneath his touch. “I’m sick, Sebastian,” he said, even more irritably than usual. “You’re not supposed to touch me.”

“Just because _you_ don’t touch sick people doesn’t mean it’s against the law,” Sebastian replied, leaning down to kiss Jim’s forehead. He might be annoyed with him right now, but he had a hard time turning his affection off. Especially when Jim was in no state to stop him. He turned his attention to Jim’s abandoned tea project on the counter and switched the kettle back on. 

“Okay,” Sebastian said, taking one of Jim’s arms and carefully pulling him to a sitting position on the counter. Jim was quite off balance, and Sebastian spotted him as he swayed. “Let’s get you out of this suit.” 

“I feel like shit.”

“I know. This is what I felt like three days ago, remember? I know it’s awful.” Sebastian unbuttoned Jim’s suit coat and slipped it off his shoulders. He folded it gently and draped it over the back of the stool tucked under the breakfast bar. 

“Gucci,” Jim moaned, and Sebastian chuckled. 

“I’ll put it back on the hanger once we get you settled.” Seb pulled Jim to the edge of the counter, Jim’s legs on either side of his hips. “Arms around my neck now,” he said, letting one of his own arms scoop Jim up under his butt, the other wrapped around Jim’s waist. Jim pressed his face to Sebastian’s neck, trying to keep his head as still as possible. 

God, he felt just absolutely _miserable_. 

Jim wasn’t heavy, and Sebastian was used to slinging his weight around, sometimes nearly exactly how he was carrying him now, sometimes pressing Jim’s back against a wall for better thrusting leverage. Now though, Sebastian wasn’t feeling a surge of lust as he usually did with Jim’s warm weight in his arms. He just felt protective. 

He carried him to their bed and set Jim down carefully, watching as his lover immediately stretched out into the comfort of the mattress. Sebastian knelt down in front of Jim, and began working the leather laces of his shoes, untying each before slipping them both off. He stood up and hovered over Jim, undoing the buttons on his shirt and not stopping his unfastening when he got to Jim’s trousers. First the belt, which he was able to slide out of the loops without Jim having to lift his hips much, and then the button and fly. 

“Alright, you can lift your hips first, or sit up. Your choice,” Sebastian said, and slid Jim’s trousers off when his hips came up. He took them to their wardrobe and carefully hung them back up, before coming back for the shirt. 

He helped Jim sit up again, and pushed the shirt off his shoulders, helping Jim undo the buttons at his wrists, his coordination shot from the uncomfortable pressure building in his face and the effort it took to sit up. Seb threw the shirt in the hamper, brought the shoes to rest in the bottom of the wardrobe, and wound the belt into a coil before sliding it in its proper drawer. 

Sebastian knew keeping the flat free of visual chaos and returning items to their proper place was part of taking care of his sick boyfriend.  

Jim had slid his body, now clad in just his boxers and a white undershirt, to a proper sleeping spot in the bed, trying to find a way to lay sideways on his pillow without the firm fluff of it pressing against his sinuses. He tried not to let Sebastian see his tiny struggle, but Sebastian was paying attention to everything right now. 

“I’ll go make that cup of tea,” Sebastian said, slipping out of the bedroom to give Jim a bit of privacy. The water in the kettle was hot now, and he poured it into the cup, digging in the cupboards quickly for something to eat while he waited for it to steep. He’d missed dinner because of his job and was so hungry he was hollow. He quickly scarfed down a piece of leftover pizza he found at the back of the fridge. He paused only for a second before pouring himself a shot of whiskey. It had been a long day. 

He didn’t bother getting anything for Jim. Healthy Moriarty was difficult enough to feed, and though Sebastian could readily admit he was a masochist, _nobody_ liked that much pain. 

“‘Bastian,” Jim groaned, just barely loud enough for Seb to head him in the kitchen. 

“Yeah?” Sebastian replied as he came back to the bedroom, setting Jim’s tea down on the night stand and hanging his suit coat up in the wardrobe. 

Jim was on his back again, the pressure off his face. “I hate everything. I want everything to die. I want to die. Kill me?” 

“You’ll regret that when you can think again, love,” Sebastian said, giving Jim a pitying glance. Jim couldn’t muster the energy to scowl back at him. 

Sebastian knew Jim couldn’t sleep on his back, just like he knew Jim couldn’t sleep without him. He also knew that Jim liked to be coddled, though he would never admit it. 

Sebastian sighed. “Budge up,” he said, stripping his own trousers off, and pulling his black long sleeve shirt over his head. He climbed into bed and situated himself behind Jim, the criminal curling up so small on Sebastian’s chest. 

Jim moaned and complained about his face, and Sebastian listened. He complained about the job he had to postpone because he could barely think clearly enough to text, about how the back light on his computer screen gave him a headache, about how Sherlock Holmes spent the day running around London with John when he could barely breathe out of his nose. Sebastian listened and stroked Jim’s hair off his forehead. 

Sebastian thought back a few days to when he was sick. He got kicked out of bed and banned from the bedroom unless using the bathroom. He got a roll of disinfectant wipes Jim expected him to use on anything he touched thrown at him. He got a hotel quarantine threatened more than a few times (though Jim never went through with it). He had to make his own tea. 

But then he thought of a single tissue floating down to his face, and knew that he was the only person Jim had ever tried (even the smallest amount) to take care of. And none of the other bullshit mattered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And we come to the end of Hannah's endless back-supply of Mormor fluff. Any requests? Because if you want them to do something adorable (preferably without leaving the flat) I'm down to write it.


	7. Bored.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim did not cook. He could take apart and reassemble a computer (or not reassemble it), organize a throng of criminals to do his bidding, or keep the bathroom bleached a perfect white. However, cooking had never been an interest. And where Jim wasn’t interested, he garnered no skill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the reader HarassingFictionalCharacters for suggesting that Sebastian deal with Jim's boredom, and for nightslash, for requesting a cooking/baking scenario. I have combined them, as it seemed like the perfect solution. I hope you like it :]

“You’re being ridiculous,” Sebastian said, as he hovered over Jim’s shoulder, staring at the pieces of his laptop. Jim sat patiently, steady fingers working a tiny screwdriver, rendering small pieces even smaller. 

“Your computer is impossibly old, and you’ve watched so much sodding porn on it that it barely will boot-up anymore. Your hard drive is the size of a flash drive - it must be replaced,” Jim replied. “And get out of my light,” he finished swatting Sebastian away. 

Sebastian sighed. He barely ever used his computer anyway. He accessed his internet mostly on his phone now days. Checked his e-mail, browsed a few websites. He had finally convinced Jim to hook up a DVD player to the telly so they could properly watch a movie. He didn’t really have a use for his laptop anymore. 

Perhaps that’s why he had no particular feelings regarding the sight of his old Dell, one of the few personal items that he had in the apartment from his pre-Jim days, dismantled within an inch of its life. 

His computer had been sitting, uncharged, in a drawer in the desk for weeks, and suddenly Jim had fished it out and decided to break it down. Something was weird. 

Sebastian groaned when he realized. 

“You’re bored,” he said to the back of Jim’s head, standing now at a bit of a distance from the desk - far away from _Jim’s light_. “You’re bored and decided to take apart my things. You’re bored because that job with the Cubans wrapped up yesterday and that thing that you’re planning with Parliament and the helicopters is still in its infancy.” Jim rolled his eyes at Sebastian’s clearly elementary understanding of his plans. _Helicopters_? Honestly.  

“I’m not bored, I’m doing you a favor,” Jim replied, eyes never leaving the pieces on the desk. 

“You never do anyone favors, James Moriarty. I know you, don’t forget that. You. Are. Bored.” Though Sebastian had to admit - taking apart a computer was fairly tame on the list of things Jim does when he’s bored.

“I’m not bored,” he replied with a finality in his tone that Sebastian knew not to push. He turned his attention to the kitchen. They’d just gone grocery shopping, well _he_ had just gone grocery shopping, and their cupboards were practically bursting. Or as bursting as cupboards that serviced the stomach of Jim ever really got. 

Sebastian knocked around the kitchen, taking stock of what they had. The Cuban job had been strenuous and long, and he had let their kitchen get nearly bare. They had been left with moldy leftovers and condiments in their fridge just this morning. Now they had practically everything, and Sebastian was itching to cook. 

“Just bin it, buy me a new laptop, and come help me make dinner,” Sebastian called across the open floor plan to where Jim’s desk was, near their wall of windows. He knew the offer was a bad idea, but he was an assassin. He wasn’t known for his _good_ decisions. And he certainly didn’t think that Jim would take him up on the offer. 

But, lo, he watched as Jim dutifully did just as Sebastian said. He picked up the bin below the desk, and in one sweep of his arm, disposed of the pieces of Sebastian’s shitty old laptop. He glanced up briefly. “I’ll get you a new macbook pro. With a big screen,” he added, eyes looking a bit cheeky, “for your incessant porn watching.” 

“Oh yes, ha ha. All of my porn,” porn was less than satisfying to Sebastian now that he shared a bed with Jim, but he wasn’t going to give Jim any compliments under these circumstances. Jim came and sat at the breakfast bar on the far side of the island. 

“So what are you making?” Jim asked, suspiciously. There had been more than one night when Sebastian had made a large and complicated meal that Jim turned his nose up to without a second thought. Anything that had been fried was an absolute no. Also no seafood. Sebastian had learned both these things when he made fish and chips months ago. 

Jim didn’t really like anything that tasted meaty or fatty. Chicken seemed to be alright though. 

“We,” Sebastian said, digging item after item out of the fridge, “are making chicken stir-fry. Delicious, good for you, lean.” Jim didn’t complain. 

“We?” 

“What, you thought you’d just get to watch?” Sebastian usually shooed Jim away from the kitchen when he was cooking. Jim tended to get in the way of things - to be expected - and to make rude comments. Also expected. 

Jim considered. 

“What do I have to do?” he asked, face still pinched in a doubtful look. Jim did not cook. He could take apart and reassemble a computer (or not reassemble it), organize a throng of criminals to do his bidding, or keep the bathroom bleached a perfect white. However, cooking had never been an interest. And where Jim wasn’t interested, he garnered no skill. 

Sebastian was excited. He let his happiness creep subtly onto his face at the thought of being able to boss Jim around somewhere outside of the bedroom. He grabbed a cutting board and a chef’s knife, and set them down in front of Jim. Then he grabbed a knife for himself. He was going to have to give Jim a little lesson before any serious chopping happened. 

“Hold your knife like this,” he said, helping Jim place the handle properly in his hand. Jim’s bad habits overrode Sebastian's’ good intentions. 

“I know how to hold a knife, Bastian,” Jim snapped unevenly. Sebastian smiled at the pet name and ignored the tone of his voice, gently adjusting his grip again. 

“You know how to hold a knife to insert it between someone’s ribs, sweetheart. You don’t know how to wield a cooking tool.”

Sebastian was right handed and Jim left, so Sebastian positioned them at the corner of the island so they could face each other, and Jim could mirror his movements. He grabbed a carrot out of one of the bags he had slung on the counter. He peeled it quickly, and cut it in half length-wise, keeping one half for himself, and setting the other in front of Jim. 

“You’re going to want to keep the fingers on your right hand tucked under like this,” he said, curling the fingers of his own left hand and placing them over the carrot. “That way you won’t cut off anything important, and you can also feed the carrot into the knife as you progress. Alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jim grumbled, making a little face. But he couldn’t fool Sebastian as he carefully mimicked Sebastian’s technique, eyes displaying the kind of focus Sebastian never saw outside of his cell phone or laptop. 

“You also don’t want to lift the point of your blade off the cutting board. You don’t want just an up-and-down cutting motion - you won’t cut all the way through and it’ll be frustrating. Use a gentle rocking motion like this,” his knife easily slid through the carrot, slicing thin and even half-moons. 

Jim tried rocking his knife through his carrot, half total slow concentration, half attempting to prematurely adopt Sebastian’s obvious ease with a knife. His half moons were less than even, but they still were tiny and separate pieces now, even if they weren’t pretty. Jim frowned. He thought it would be easier than this. 

“Just a bit of practice, love, and you’ll be as good as I am,” Sebastian teased. It was nice to have a thing or two he was better than Jim at, even if he knew Jim would be much better than him sooner rather than later. 

Sebastian quickly set up the rice maker before prepping the rest of the vegetables for Jim to cut up, offering up verbal directions as he got to new challenges. “You can use the tip of your knife to slice strips of the bell pepper, like this,” “to get the garlic peeled, just lay your knife flat over it, and use your fist to smash it first.” 

He had to do a demonstration of the onion technique as a verbal description wouldn’t have been much help, first cutting slices parallel to the counter, then slices down the long way, before rendering the vegetable into tiny, perfectly sized cubes. Sebastian tipped his head to the side as he watched Jim copy his technique almost exactly now, his onion matching the dice of Sebastian’s with near perfection.  It hadn’t taken long for Jim to get the hang of this. 

Sebastian could see a glint of competition in his eyes. 

While Sebastian cubed and cooked the chicken in the wok, Jim piled vegetable after vegetable, expertly sliced, onto a large dinner plate: carrots, celery, onion, garlic, pea pods, broccoli, bell peppers, mushrooms, and asparagus. When he was done, he glanced to Sebastian, a smug pride clear on his face. 

“Alright, now, why haven’t we tried this sooner?” he asked, taking the plate from the island and setting it next to the burners. He cleared the cooked chicken onto a separate plate, poured a bit more oil in the bottom of the pan, and carefully scrapped the celery, onions, and garlic off of the plate and into the oil. “I could have used a sous chef ages ago,” he said over his shoulder, one hand shaking the aromatics confidently into the air, catching them again in the pan. 

The actual cooking took only minutes, rendering nearly an hour’s worth of chopping into soft delicious morsels in such a short period of time. Jim felt a bit let down by it - he thought that after all that prep there would be a few more cooking steps or something, but wouldn’t let on to Sebastian. Sebastian re-added the chicken, and drizzled a spicy sauce over the top. 

“Ready to eat?” he asked, clearly excited by the prospect himself. Jim just nodded. He didn’t seem to be as taken by the actual idea of dinner. 

Sebastian took one clean plate out of the cupboard, put a heap of rice on it, and covered the rice in the stir-fry. He brought their single plate to the breakfast bar with two forks. He had found that Jim felt less pressure to “finish his serving” when his and Sebastian’s food was indistinguishable. Plus, sharing a plate was a tiny intimate thing that Sebastian knew was just _theirs_ , and that counted for something to Sebastian. 

“Looks good, right?” Sebastian asked, handing Jim his fork. 

“Looks edible,” he conceded, purposefully keeping his small amount of excitement to himself, just to spite Sebastian. 

“It looks delicious, you arse,” Sebastian replied, taking a forkful. “And it is delicious,” he added, through a mouthful. He got another eye roll from Jim, but he dutifully took a bite, blowing on it first to cool it down. 

“It’s fine,” Jim said. He chewed thoughtfully. It was actually quite good. “We just spent the better part of an hour making this.” 

“Yes,” Sebastian said, not understanding where Sebastian was going with this. 

“And now we’re just eating it.” 

“That’s the idea generally. I’m sorry you were hoping for a more tangible long-term pay off, but you did just bin two hours worth of dissembling my computer, if that makes you feel any better,” Sebastian said, trying to help Jim understand that putting good food into his body was not a waste of time. 

“An interesting argument,” Jim said, accepting it, without having to admit he accepted it. 

They continued to eat. They existed so naturally over their shared plate, forks never getting tangled, foreheads never bumping. Sebastian rested his hand on Jim’s thigh, and he could feel him shift just the smallest bit closer to him. Sebastian seemed to eat two bites to every one of Jim’s, and soon their plate was empty. 

They had shifted ever closer during their meal, another benefit of Jim’s left handedness. Jim put his fork down on the plate, resting his head on Sebastian’s shoulder. 

Though he’d never say as much to Sebastian, it was nice to have something to focus on for a while. He hated the way he felt when he had nothing to do. Like he was so far removed from any control he had over his body, his thoughts, his actions. He knew his boredom scared other people, scared Sebastian. His boredom scared himself sometimes. A task anchored him, even if it was a somewhat boring one. 

He tilted his head up, just enough to place a small kiss on Sebastian’s jaw, lips meeting Sebastian’s weekend beard. Sebastian smiled and put his arm around Jim’s shoulder. This quiet post-meal pause would be brief before Jim would need something else to occupy his mind, but it was nice to sit here now with Sebastian. Sebastian understood him - as much as anyone was going to. Sebastian anchored him. And that counted for something to Jim. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for being so encouraging and positive about this. It really does mean a great deal to me to have such lovely people reading this. I love you all to pieces. 
> 
> Also: Still working on some things, still accepting new prompts :] 
> 
> (Though I did get a request for some sexytimes, and due to my incredible midwestern bashfulness, I very well may not be physically able to write it. I am just one big blush and I keep diverting to tumblr. ACK!)


	8. Bath Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim was an extravagant bastard, and even though he proclaimed a hatred of baths, (Sebastian had never seen him take one unless he was being forced) he chose a flat with an enormous jacuzzi style scenario.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for the lovely anon on Tumblr who requested some Jim and Seb relaxation bath time.

Sebastian hated running chores for Jim. He was fine with shooting people, or even intimidating them at close-range. But he was not very happy when he had to grab confidential files from their inside man in Parliament, or worse - grab Jim’s dry cleaning. Those kinds of errands reminded him that he was still Jim’s employee. 

The flat was quiet when Sebastian got back, and he expected it as such. Jim should have been out in London himself, running a few more exciting errands. Sebastian threw the folder with the files down on the kitchen island, and opened the bedroom door to hang up Jim’s suit. He stopped when he found his flatmate lying in an undershirt and pants, face first on the bed. 

“Plans not work out today, Sir?” Sebastian asked him, and only received a groan. Sebastian carefully removed Jim’s suit from the plastic covering, hung it up (alphabetical by designer - Sebastian always had to look at the tags) and threw the plastic out. “What happened?” he asked, sitting on the bed next to Jim, and patting him gently on the back. 

Jim’s moan of pain was nearly as loud as one he’d give in pleasure. “Do. Not. Touch. My. Back,” Jim said, teeth clenched. 

Sebastian sighed. “What’s wrong?” 

“Nothing is wrong, Sebastian,” Jim said, his voice past cranky. It was not a good mood for him to be in when he had to be around other people. 

“Something is always wrong when you throw your back out,” he said, getting off the bed and heading for the bathroom. “And you can tell me now, or you can tell me in the tub, but one way or another I’ll know.” He grabbed a bottle of pills and filled a paper cup with water and headed back for Jim. 

“Fuck off, Sebastian,” Jim said, his voice acid. Jim liked to pretend that he liked to suffer in solitude, but Sebastian knew him better than that. 

“Xanax first,” he said, dumping a single pill into his palm and holding it out for Jim. Jim didn’t move. “Xanax first, and then I’ll give you a massage, and then we’ll take a bath.”

“I showered this morning.” 

“I’m not telling you that you smell bad, I’m telling you that your back feels better after a hot soak.” Was this what John Watson put up with every day at the surgery? Likely not. Maybe at home though… 

“Just leave me alone. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m not leaving you alone. C’mon now, can you lift your head enough to swallow a pill?”

Jim grumbled and shifted just the slightest bit. Sebastian placed the pill between Jim’s teeth, and helped him drink enough water to swallow it. Jim just glared at him. 

“Alright now. I’ll be back in ten minutes. Savor your alone time,” he said sarcastically. Sebastian left for long enough for the medicine to start working, or the time it took him to smoke three cigarettes. He thought chain smoking through the next hour or so of his life would be preferable, but Jim didn’t let him smoke in the flat, and coming back reeking like it wasn’t going to earn him any points to begin with. 

When he came back, Jim looked a little more relaxed, though he had barely moved. 

“You smell awful,” Jim greeted him, his voice terse. 

“Feel okay?” Sebastian asked him, ignoring Jim’s comment and tentatively approaching the bed. 

Jim mumbled. 

“Pardon?” 

“Lower back,” Jim clarified, voice a little slow. “Shoulders.” 

“Can you take the shirt off?” Sebastian asked, looking at Jim’s white undershirt. It would be much easier to give him a massage with it off, but frequently his back issues left his arms in dire straits as well. Jim shook his head. No, the shirt wasn’t coming off. 

“Well, I’ll do what I can,” he said, and straddled Jim’s thighs, his hands coming to gently rest on Jim’s lower back. Jim hissed and groaned and occasionally gave a little yelp of pain when things really weren’t going well. But Sebastian’s large hands were used to this, used to sorting Jim’s back after he threw it out. 

Slowly, Jim’s groans of pain quieted, and his back began to feel a bit looser. Sebastian bent over Jim’s back, careful not to put any weight on him, and kissed the back of his neck. 

He let Jim rest a bit, and went to run the bath. Luckily, Jim was an extravagant bastard, and even though he proclaimed a hatred of baths, (Sebastian had never seen him take one unless he was being forced) he chose a flat with an enormous jacuzzi style scenario. 

Unfortunately, it took quite a while to fill up, so Sebastian turned the water on as hot as it went and went to lay down next to Jim on the bed. He lay on his stomach in an imitation of Jim, one arm folded below his head, one softly stroking down Jim’s back. No pressure, just presence. He peppered a few kisses on Jim’s shoulder, keeping an ear on the pitch of the water flowing into the tub. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart,” he said, knowing that eventually he’d be able to kill Jim with kindness. Jim had spent his childhood being misunderstood and bullied, and it broke Sebastian’s heart to know that some part of him honestly did not believe Sebastian meant it when he was being kind. 

“Nothing is wrong, Sebastian,” Jim said once more, turning his face toward Sebastian’s. His tone was less insistent this time, and Sebastian wasn’t sure it it was because he was winning, or because of the drugs. Sebastian leaned forward to kiss Jim’s nose, and he wrinkled it, that variety of affection still too _cute_ for him to stomach. 

They lay there next to each other in silence, Sebastian letting his hand travel up and down Jim’s back so light he was almost not touching him, finally eliciting a sigh from his lips. Getting Jim to relax was absolutely the most difficult task Sebastian had ever taken on, and he was sure he would have been unsuccessful had pharmaceuticals not been involved. 

Finally, Sebastian heard the pitch of the tub change from it’s low rumble of Nearly Empty to the higher flood of Nearly Full, and he helped Jim to his feet. He had to be careful - one bad move on his part and Jim’s back could be right back to where they started. 

Jim walked carefully to the tub, his arms still fairly stiff at his sides. Sebastian turned the water off with just enough room left over for two full grown men, and started stripping his clothes off. Jim’s eyes were frustrated as he watched. 

“Oh, you wanker, give me a minute,” Sebastian said, as he pulled his trousers down. “I’ll help you.” He finished disrobing, pulling a move that Jim was fully incapable of at the moment as he tried to remove his final sock from his foot, and then looked at Jim. 

“Well, these can go first,” Sebastian said, thinking pragmatically about the task at hand, and yanking Jim’s pants down in the least sexual way he ever had. Jim stepped out of them, and Sebastian added them to the hamper full of his own clothes. 

Jim sighed, standing now only in his white shirt. “Damnit,” he said, his voice half harsh, half beaten. 

“Can you lift your arms at all?” Sebastian asked, placing his hands gently on Sebastian’s shoulders. 

“If I could lift my arms, I wouldn’t have a shirt on right now,” Jim snapped, his crabbiness appearing once more. 

“Okay. So, I can cut it off of you, or you can take a bath with it on,” Sebastian said, and by the sight of his eyebrows (to the ceiling) at the first suggestion, their course of action was clear: partially clothed bath time. It was better than nothing. 

Sebastian stepped into the tub and held his hands out to Jim’s hips to help him. Jim glared at Sebastian but stepped into his embrace, knowing he needed the help. Then Sebastian settled himself down in the tub, and reached up to grab Jim’s waist to help him sit too. Any sort of radical bending made Jim suck in air quick, but the pain wasn’t too bad. The medicine didn’t make it go away, but it made him care less about it. It just seemed to be at a comfortable distance at the moment. 

"C'mere, baby," Sebastian said, pulling Jim to his chest. "Let me relax you." He slipped one arm protectively around Jim’s shoulders and one hand under Jim’s now-wet shirt to rest on the bare skin of his stomach. Sebastian knew he couldn’t tell Jim how much he liked moments like these. Quiet moments where Sebastian got to make the decisions for Jim’s best interest. Moments where Jim was vulnerable, and Sebastian was the only person who could protect him. 

Of course, he could hardly bare seeing Jim in pain, but he reveled in taking care of him. He liked being good at something other than murder, and Jim Moriarty was a lovely thing to be good at. 

They sat in the warm bath together, spending the time, like most of the rest of their night, in silence. Sebastian let his hands roam Jim’s upper body, enjoying the slightly naughty feeling of his wet shirt as Jim slowly melted into him. He rubbed Jim’s shoulders, and helped him stretch his arms. He held on to the brief moment when Jim nuzzled into his neck, with a soft, “Mmmm, Bastian,” on his lips. He covered Jim’s neck with kisses.

“What’s wrong, darling?” Sebastian finally whispered from where his face was buried in Jim’s neck. Jim sighed. 

“I’ve a meeting with Sherlock Holmes tomorrow,” he said, reluctantly. “Though he doesn’t know it yet, of course.”

“And you’re stressed about it?” 

“Obviously.” 

“What’s going to go wrong? Am I scheduled as well?” Sebastian was hardly going to let Jim meet up with Holmes alone, at least not without a back up. 

“You know I don’t want you involved with anything Sherlock related,” Jim said. Sebastian could feel Jim’s shoulders tense against his chest. This was bad territory to be in right now. Jim could feel Sebastian’s tangible pout radiating off of him. “Bastian, you know why.” 

“Do I know why? You don’t want me accidentally pulling the trigger before you’re doing playing with him?” Sebastian’s voice was light, but the message was heavy. He was jealous. He tried to distract himself from his thoughts by working the stress back out of Jim’s shoulders. 

“You see how I treat John Watson. He’s the direct line to getting Sherlock to do what I want.” Jim was hoping he wouldn’t have to say something mushy to Sebastian in order to get his point across. 

“He’s the direct line to Sherlock’s heart.”

“I can’t have him knowing about you. He might do the same.” 

Sebastian chuckled. Did this mean he came before Sherlock Holmes on James Moriarty’s priority list? He wasn’t getting his hopes up. “I love you too.”

The water got chilly, and they got out, Sebastian carefully helping Jim out of his wet shirt (though Sebastian would have been fine if Jim always chose to wear wet shirts around the house) and dried them both off. 

Their night was quite lovely, actually, eating take away Italian and watching _The Godfather_. The Holmes/Watson 24 hour surveillance was differed to Jim’s laptop, which sat open on the coffee table. John Watson had a lap full of Sherlock’s feet, as they lounged on the couch of 221b together, a quiet night in. 

How similar these men were, sometimes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again if you've been reading these silly things. I appreciate you endlessly. And I'm working on some sexy times right now, so hold tight. 
> 
> Oh, and you can follow me on Tumblr if you are so inclined: 221hannahbaker.tumblr.com


	9. Coming Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian's spent the last week in America.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The request from sewnsilent on Tumblr: "Jim goes out of his way to surprise Sebastian with food. (He remembers their Anniversary. Also, cue him being awkward and cute...) Gift opening, soft smiles and snuggling?" 
> 
> This got a little away from me...

Somedays, Sebastian wanted desperately to quit his job. He hated the headaches, the long hours, the tension in his shoulders that never really went away. 

But for Sebastian to quit his job, he’d have to quit his life. And it’s not as though his hard work didn’t pay off. Being in Jim Moriarty’s good graces was certainly a reward to be sought. 

Sebastian had spent the last week in America. New York City, to be exact. _The ass of America_ , Sebastian thought, as he remembered all of the negative casual interactions he’d had while he’d been there - not to mention the idiots who made the mess he was there to clean up. God, he hoped Jim never had another reason to send him to America. Jim had promised that this was an emergency job, because Sebastian was the only person Jim had free to clean up a poorly-executed attempted murder - hopefully that meant traveling alone would be as infrequent as it had proven thus far.

The flight home had been long; it had seemed longer than the flight to New York, but then again, the flight to New York didn’t hold the promise of his lover on the other end. He couldn’t get off the plane fast enough. He’d barely remembered to grab his checked luggage on the way out of the airport. 

Sebastian threw his bag down just inside the door to their flat before he realized something was different. Was he in the right place even? He flicked his eyes to the number on the door before shutting it behind him. Yeah, this was home.  

This was his home. And those fucking white couches were gone. 

In their place sat a dark, leather, wing-backed chair with matching ottoman, and a rather cozy looking couch. The frame of the couch was done in the same dark, chocolatey leather as the chair, but the cushions and back pillows were a lighter brown fabric. The lines didn’t stray much from the geometric look of the previous furniture choices, but it looked infinitely more inviting. 

“Jim!” Sebastian called into their small flat. His voice echoed off of the cement floors, all the way up to their high ceilings. The call was unnecessary; Sebastian knew Jim wasn’t here. As lovely as the new sofa was, it wasn’t what he was excited for. 

He left his luggage at the door (sometimes he felt like living dangerously around Mr. Moriarty) and went to try it out. It wasn’t a heavenly cloud you could sink into and never leave, but it was soft, with cushions that gave enough for a good kip. And  it was just large enough that Sebastian thought he and Jim could lay together comfortably on it. 

There was a new coffee table too - dark, heavy wood instead of the glass and chrome that sat there before. And on it, a new silver laptop. _For you_ , read the note on top. Sebastian smiled. It had been long enough since Jim binned his computer that he thought Jim must have forgotten. But every once in a while he got a gentle reminder - Jim forgets nothing. 

He got up and decided on a shower. He knew Jim would be less-than-appreciative if he still smelled disgusting when he got home. Whenever that would be. He tried to hide his annoyance. They had spent a week apart and Sebastian had hoped to see Jim right when he got home. His week had seemed to last forever - it was the longest time they’d spent apart in nearly a year - a little over a year? In fact, it was the only time they’d spent apart. And Sebastian didn't like it. 

He doused himself in Jim’s bath soap and shampoo, desperate for that smell. But he made his shower quick, and dried and dressed in less than fifteen minutes. He pulled on black pants, a black button-up and a black Westwood tie with red skulls on it that he knew Jim would like to see him wear. He wasn’t good at actually wearing the expensive crap that Jim bought him. He was just putting on socks when he heard the door open. 

“Hey, gorgeous,” he called, pulling his final sock on and heading out of the bedroom. He could barely contain himself, pulling Jim into a kiss before Jim could even get a word out. It started slow, Sebastian pressing light kisses to Jim’s lips, attempting to get reacquainted with the mouth he’d spent his entire week missing. Jim wrapped his arms around Sebastian’s neck, holding them together, as Sebastian’s thumbs traced the sides of Jim’s face.

Then Sebastian got hungry. He couldn’t slow himself down. His hands touched every part of Jim he could, his mouth domineering Jim’s lips so he couldn’t say a word. 

Sebastian picked Jim up, an arm under his arse, Jim’s legs on either side of his hips, and carried him back into their room. He tossed Jim onto their bed, and began to loosen his tie. 

“Hold on a second,” Jim said, as Sebastian crawled onto the bed, and pushed Jim on his back, covering his mouth again. 

“I missed you,” Sebastian breathed into Jim’s mouth, hands locked on either side of Jim’s face, his large body pinning Jim down effectively. 

Jim mumbled into their kiss, and Sebastian finally broke it, pulling the collar of Jim’s shirt open enough to find that the mark he had left on Jim’s clavicle the morning he boarded his flight had disappeared in the past week. He set out to renew the bruise. 

“Stop it,” Jim said, wiggling under Sebastian, trying to give him a good shove off. Sebastian growled, pinning Jim’s arms above his head. 

“ _I missed you_ ,” Sebastian said again, as though Jim hadn’t heard. He dragged his nose up Jim’s jaw and rocked their hips together. Jim may be saying stop, but that’s not what Sebastian was hearing. “I missed your body.”

“Get off, we have dinner plans,” Jim said, still struggling. He wasn’t afraid of Sebastian; Sebastian wouldn’t hurt him. He was more annoyed that Sebastian wasn’t following orders. 

Sebastian didn’t get off. He licked Jim’s neck up to his ear, gripped both of Jim’s hands in one of his own so he could pull the shirt out of Jim’s pants and feel some of his pale skin. He wasn’t being particularly nice, but no addict is nice when trying to get a fix. 

“Sebastian!” Jim said, his voice in business mode, quite far away from bedroom mode. 

Sebastian pulled back. He let Jim’s hands free, and pulled his hand out of Jim’s shirt. But just when Jim thought he could slip away from Sebastian’s grip, he pulled Jim back to him, back to chest, sleeping position. Neutral. As much as Jim hated his body for it, he sighed. Homeostasis. Pressed against him as he was, Jim could feel Sebastian’s erection softening. He was calming down a bit - but not all the way. 

“Are you done?” Jim asked him mildly, his signature boredom in his voice. 

“I’m never done with you,” Sebastian said, but his voice wasn’t predatory, it was affectionate - seductive. 

“We have dinner plans, my love,” Jim said, though the level of detachment in his voice didn’t properly convey the sentiment of his endearment. 

“I’ll make you dinner,” Sebastian said, rubbing his face into the back of Jim’s neck. He could not get enough of Jim’s scent. It was one thing that was impossible to take with him to America. 

“I’m not sure what delusions you’re laboring under darling, but any food in this flat has gone off in the past week. And I certainly haven’t replenished.” 

“Shit. Well, we could just not eat,” Sebastian said, shifting his hips into Jim’s arse. Jim could feel him getting a bit hard again. He swatted Sebastian’s thigh. 

“Stop it. You’re hungry, I’m hungry. I have a table reserved. You’re wrinkling my suit.” 

“I’ve spent the entire week thinking about how glorious it would be when I got home and got to have you naked on my bed-“

“On my bed,” Jim corrected, out of habit.

“On _our_ bed,” Sebastian amended, turning himself on again with his fantasy, “covered in sweat-“

“That’s disgusting.”

“Listening to your screams as I pounded into you-“

“You are welcome to do so after dinner.”

“And now you’re making me wait, when I could just as well have you now,” Sebastian was officially fully hard again. 

“Well, go have a wank in the loo first, if it will help relieve some of that annoying tension, and then we’ll go,” Jim said, not bothering to try to slip out of Sebastian’s grasp. He used to be so good at following directions…

“I’m not having a wank in the loo,” Sebastian said, his voice slow and husky. His arms gripped Jim only slightly tighter, bringing his lips right up to Jim’s ear. “All I’ve thought about for the past week has been you: your hands on my chest, my cock in your arse, your cock in my mouth.” Sebastian smiled when he heard Jim make a tiny mewl. 

Sebastian ground his hips into Jim’s arse, keeping his voice low. “I’ve thought about sucking your dick so hard that your orgasm hurts the back of my throat. I’ve thought about the marks I would make on your skin - nearly bare after my week away. I’ve thought endlessly about the face you make when you come - god I love that face.” 

He felt the shiver run down Jim’s spine. But Jim was always the professional.

“You are very quickly getting on my nerves, Sebastian,” Jim said, a bit of a sing-song note in his voice. Sebastian sighed into the back of Jim’s neck. 

“Fine,” Sebastian said, letting his grip loosen ever so slightly. “Just let me fucking hold on to you for five minutes, alright?” 

Jim shifted in his grip, flipping over to press his face into Sebastian’s neck. “Greedy,” Jim mumbled, though he sounded content. Sebastian’s hands ran over Jim’s body, reminding himself of every curve and dip. 

“Baby,” Sebastian sighed, pressing kisses onto the top of Jim’s head and to his hairline.

“You can call me boss, thank you,” Jim said into his collar.

“I call you boss during business. When we’re on a job, you’re my boss. When we’re in bed, you are very obviously _not_ my boss. You’re my baby,” Sebastian smirked when he felt Jim tense up. ‘Baby’ was not his favorite endearment. He let an appropriate amount of time pass in order to signal a change of topic. 

“You’re welcome,” He said, pressing a kiss to Sebastian’s chest. He’d missed those arms around him more than he cared to admit. He’d barely slept all week. If he wasn’t careful, he’d sleep through dinner.

“Thank you?” Sebastian asked, unsure as to what he was referencing. 

“I thought getting new furniture would be a little more exciting for you. I was under the impression you disliked the white couch?”

“It’s hard to concentrate on a couch when you’re here looking delicious,” Sebastian said, still trying - in vain - to seduce Jim before dinner. “But yes, thank you. It’s perfect.” Jim felt quite smug. He thought he had done quite a good job decorating his flat, thank you. “The computer is lovely too.”

“The computer was a promise,” Jim explained, for some reason needing these things to be separate. “It’s the furniture that’s the anniversary gift.” 

“Oh, fuck,” Sebastian said, his grip on Jim falling slack. “I’m an idiot. I didn’t know we were keeping track. Didn’t know where to keep track from, I guess. You’re counting the night at dinner?” Sebastian asked, referencing what Sebastian thought of as his job interview, but Jim clearly must see as their first date.

“Of course. And it’s fine you’ve forgotten. You have one week to acquire the perfect gift for me,” he said with a chuckle. “You know what I like.”

Jim tilted his head back to press a kiss on Sebastian’s jaw before sliding out of their bed, smoothing his suit, tucking his shirt back in, and buttoning the collar back up. Then he grabbed a black suit jacket out of the wardrobe for Sebastian and tossed it at him. 

“We are actually going to dinner,” Jim said, and walked out the door. “And put your luggage away where it belongs before I set fire to it,” he called over his shoulder. Yes - Sebastian had missed him quite a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still taking requests, though I have a bit of a list going right now - might be a wait until I can actually fill it (but they've been so much fun so don't hesitate if you have been!). 
> 
> Sewnsilent darling, OBVIOUSLY I didn't really do any of your prompt. Except the anniversary thing. And the snuggles. I haven't harnessed the forces of nature required to make Jim Moriarty awkward or cute yet. Maybe that's on pro level. I dunno. I started with the best of intentions, but these boys do what they want. I do hope you liked it, though. xoxo
> 
> Follow me on tumblr! 221hannahbaker.tumblr.com (The messages you guys send me are the besssssst. I love you.)
> 
> Oh, also, I quite like New York City, thank you very much.


	10. Tags

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The job is not a success if you come home perforated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for writer-jesus on tumblr. She wanted to see what would happen if my Sebastian came home hurt - how Jim would react. Hope you enjoy, dear.

“What the fuck did you do to yourself?” Jim shouted when he raised his head from his computer. He was at his desk in the back of the flat, but not too far away to see the blood covering Sebastian’s upper arm and the side of his face. “I got the all-clear. Job went fine. The fuck do you think you’re doing coming back here covered in blood?”

Sebastian sighed. “Yes, darling, I’m absolutely fine, nothing to worry about, though thank you for your concern,” he replied, voice dripping with sarcasm. 

Jim got up from his desk and met Sebastian in the kitchen, his hand coming up to Sebastian’s jaw to jerk his head to the side. “You got too close,” he said, his tone still harsh. Jim was pissed. “I set up the perfect blast perimeter and you got too fucking close.”

“I couldn’t see the mark - it was hard to follow the conversation with just the microphone, I had to actually watch it,” Sebastian replied, wincing as Jim ran his hands lightly over his wounds. 

“I found the perfect spot for you, and you got too close.” 

“The conversation moved. I had to move too. If I hadn’t moved, I wouldn’t have been able to trigger the bomb at the right moment,” he said, knowing that he was right and Jim was being unreasonable. 

“You’re a fucking moron,” Jim said, heading into their bedroom. “Get in the tub, it seems I have some sodding glass to pick out of your skin.” 

The prospect of Jim Moriarty digging anything out of his skin was terrifying; he was just glad he had been gifted a high pain tolerance. He stripped in the bedroom, his shirt sticking to his wounds where the blood had dried. He threw his torn and bloody shirt in the bin and eased off his trousers - he kept his pants on. 

He heard Jim turn the tap on before coming back into the bedroom to strip himself down to his pants. A new silver chain hung from his neck. _Interesting,_ Sebastian thought.

“Planning on getting a bit messy, are we?” Sebastian said, trying to keep the mood light. It had been a while since he’d pissed Jim off - he didn’t want him blowing up at him. He was already having a shit day. 

“Planning on not getting your blood all over clothes that cost a fortune to dry clean,” Jim replied. He pointed at the tub. “Sit.” 

Sebastian stepped into the tub and sat on the edge, back against the wall. Jim had turned the tap on warm, but let the water wash straight down the drain. This wasn’t a soak, it was an operating area. Jim sat on the opposite edge, unwrapping a pair of sterile tweezers from the medical kit he balanced next to him. He re-evaluated Sebastian’s injuries. 

“I don’t think I’m going to have to sew you up,” he said, and Sebastian sighed. He would have trusted a calmer Jim with that task, but currently Jim was still furious. “I’ll probably just dig out the glass and cover you with that skin glue they use in the emergency department.”

Sebastian braced as Jim started on his arm. He cleaned the area first, a fresh, white flannel quickly turning shades of bright and rust red. The warm water helped soften the edges of Sebastian’s cuts, hopefully making it easier for Jim to extract the glass shards. 

“So you stood in front of a window as a bomb went off, did you?” Jim said, his Dublin accent flourishing in his anger. 

“I turned and covered,” Sebastian replied. That was good enough for combat, it should be good enough for Moriarty, he thought. He winced as the tip of the tweezers dipped into his flesh. Jim was quick and effective though, and when he pulled back out, he was gripping a tiny shard of glass. 

“You’re the biggest idiot I’ve ever met in my life.”

“My timing was the reason that job was a success,” Sebastian said, his voice tense. He just wanted Jim to realize that although he came up a bit scratched and battered, he’d done a good job. 

“The job is not a success if you come home perforated,” Jim said, voice just above a growl. His eyes stayed on his work, diligently searching each cut for it’s corresponding shard. He made a little pile of them on the edge on the tub. 

“The nature of that job meant we would have to sacrifice one of our men, and you’re mad at me because I’m a bit scratched up? That doesn’t make sense.” 

“That doesn’t make sense, _sir_ ,” Jim corrected. 

Sebastian hated being in their apartment together - especially in their pants in the bathtub for god sake - and having Jim be in Boss Mode. You’re-My-Employee-Moran should at least keep out of the loo. 

“Sometimes, it would just be nice to hear it,” Sebastian said, trying to pull his lover out of the angry man sitting opposite him. “Not every day or anything, just sometimes. Like when I come home after being in a bomb’s blast radius, for example.”

“Hear what?”

“You can just say it you know. No one else is here. No one will record it and play it for Sherlock Holmes. You can say it whenever you want, actually. For example, when my boyfriend is carefully picking a window out of my arm, I like to tell him that I love him.” Sebastian’s eyes were fixed on Jim, daring him to look up. 

“Oh. That again,” Jim said, shaking his head. 

“You’ve told me before. I know it’s true.”

“Then why must I say it?” Jim asked, making a particularly angered stab into a cut. Sebastian winced but didn’t acknowledge it otherwise. 

“Because you’re wearing my tags,” Sebastian said softly, good arm coming up to Jim’s neck to run a finger over the ball chain that hung from his neck. Sebastian’s dog tags hung silently in front of his chest. 

“Sod off,” Jim said. That hadn’t been the way to make him _less_ mad certainly.

“You’re impossible.”

“And somehow you’re still here. Stop complaining.” Jim snapped, and moved back to inspect his work as a whole. “I think your arm is done,” he said, grabbing some anti-bacterial cream from the kit and smearing it over Sebastian’s cuts. None of them were bad enough to need the glue. 

He grabbed Sebastian’s chin and jerked his face to the side, his right, cut up side exposed. The largest cut curved down his cheek bone.

“This is going to suck isn’t it?” Sebastian asked, as Jim picked up the flannel again and began to clean the new area. He wasn’t gentle. Sebastian’s eyes watered. 

“If you were any other person on this planet, I would have fired you,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “No. I would have killed you.” 

“Love, you could never kill me,” Sebastian said, voice still light. 

Jim’s hand whipped Sebastian’s face toward his, close enough to kiss him. His voice was a hiss. “You are not taking this seriously.” Sebastian tried to jerk his face away, uncomfortable with Jim’s hot angry breath on his face. Jim held tighter. 

“When you put yourself in danger, you put the job in danger.”

“I saved the job.”

“The job doesn’t matter if you’re _dead_!” Jim shouted, shooting up from his perch on the edge of the tub and backing off a few paces. He turned away. Sebastian could see his rage vibrating off of him. 

“James, just breathe,” Sebastian said, voice level. He’d seen Jim angry plenty of times. It just usually wasn’t directed toward him. 

“Sebastian,” he started, his breathing ragged. 

Sebastian stepped out of the tub and wrapped his arms around Jim, hunching a bit to press his good cheek to Jim’s. Jim struggled, but Sebastian held tight. 

“I am not going to die, Jim. I’m too clever for that.” 

“Sherlock Holmes is cleverer than you are and he’s going to die,” Jim said. Holmes again. Sebastian was sick of Holmes. He couldn’t wait for Sherlock fucking Holmes to bite it. 

“But he will die only because you will kill him,” Sebastian said, and he felt Jim’s breath even. Apparently that was a calming thought. He’d hold onto that one for later. “C’mon baby,” he said, trailing Jim back to the tub by his hand. Jim grabbed his comb from the sink in an afterthought. 

“Do you only get your hair cut when I make you an appointment?” Jim asked, fingers trailing over Sebastian’s shaggy fringe, always hanging in his face. Sebastian combed and gelled it back for jobs, but when he didn’t have to put on a suit he let his dirty blond hair hang in his face. 

“Now days, yes. Before you I’d just do it myself if it got too long in the front, but I know you wouldn’t like that.” He watched as Jim ran the comb under the tap, and brought it to tame Sebastian’s hair. The ends were tipped red from hanging in his cuts, and Jim carefully combed out the dried blood before parting his hair far to the side, and combing the fringe up and back. There was just enough water from the comb and grease from a dirty job in it to hold, at least temporarily. Jim’s thumb traced Sebastian’s cheek before tossing the comb in the bin.

“You know me well. Cutting your hair yourself is not something I would appreciate.” He picked up the tweezers again, and picked the rest of the glass out of Sebastian’s face. They chatted about the job, and Sebastian gave reviews of Jim’s employees. Nicholson was alright, but a bit jumpy. Daniels was green, but she was even tempered and made some good decisions. Bing should not only be fired, but killed. Going over the job like this, how they always did when they had finished something, seemed to calm Jim. 

Jim cleaned Sebastian’s large cut once more, and pinched it together to apply the glue. If Jim thought Sebastian needed a doctor, he would have called the one on his speed dial - but off the record professional medical attention by someone discrete was expensive and a hassle. Sebastian preferred Jim anyway, even if he didn’t have a medical degree. He always seemed to know what he was doing at least.  

He swallowed the ibuprofen Jim handed him dry, and Jim got up to make tea while Sebastian bleached the tub. The fumes made his head spin, but better to do it now than in the morning when the blood would be dry in the divot around the drain. He threw out the tweezers and the flannel. They may be murderers, but they were careful about their bodily fluids.

When he entered the kitchen, Jim was sitting on the counter with a mug of tea in his hand. One for Sebastian was sitting on the center island.

“Thanks,” Sebastian said, lifting the mug to Jim and taking a sip. 

“You are an idiot,” he said, his voice no longer as sharp, but every bit as serious. 

“I am,” Sebastian said, moving to stand in front of Jim. He set his mug on the counter and reached for his tags. He didn’t even know he still had them. “Where did you find these?” 

“In that box of things from when you moved in,” Jim said simply. 

“I have a box of things from when I moved in? I thought the contents of my flat were destroyed.” 

“No, there’s a box in the closet,” Jim said casually, more than a year later. Must be a pretty small box, Sebastian thought, to have hidden so long in the closet from him. 

He took the tea out of Jim’s hand and set it next to his own. “Do you plan on keeping them?” he said, leaning in to kiss Jim’s neck. The ball chain was surprisingly cold beneath his lips, barely warmed by Jim’s naturally chilly body. 

“I was thinking I was going to. Unless you have an aversion to it,” Jim said, one hand on Sebastian’s hip. 

“No, I like it,” Sebastian said, feeling the slight weight of the tags as he inspected them again. “You belong to me,” he said, wincing as Jim kissed the side of his face near the big cut. 

“It’s more like the other way around,” Jim said, but he plucked the tags out of Sebastian’s grip and let them fall back against his chest. “But yes. Something like that.” 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey I wrote some pseudo/AU-DomBliss called [Soft](http://archiveofourown.org/works/405151), based off of my friend [taggianto's fic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/404561) wherein Jim and Seb have a kitten. It's basically DB, but with a cat. So maybe check that out if you like my Mormor fluff. Also check out [taggianto](http://archiveofourown.org/users/taggianto/) for some cute stuff you'll like if you like this. She's the Seb to my Seb <3 
> 
> Also: Next post will be porn. Should I post it here, or separately? Does anyone particularly want this to be a porn-free zone? Or is it just more convenient to have it here (subscription-wise)?
> 
> As always, I love requests - sorry they're taking a while.
> 
> [Find me on tumblr!](http://221hannahbaker.tumblr.com/)


	11. Voyeurs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holmes and Watson may be on to something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got an Anon request on tumblr for some sweet sweet morning sex about a hundred years ago. But I am bashful, so it's taken me a while to work up to it. This is for you, Anon. I hope you enjoy it. 
> 
> Also: The rating changed. This is sex. I know I've warned you but I thought I'd be polite anyway.

“You’re seriously going to keep watching this?” Sebastian asked, looking over at Jim. They were in their respective spots in the sitting room, Sebastian on his new couch, Jim stretched out on his chair, feet up on the ottoman. Sebastian’s book lay on his chest forgotten, as flashes of skin on the telly caught his attention.  
  
This was the Holmes/Watson 24 hour surveillance telly after all.  
  
“I flew past the line of acceptable voyeurism miles back, Sebastian. I’m not sure what your problem is. Haven’t you ever caught this particular show before? They perform it quite a bit.” Jim was on his computer, but his eyes for the time being were captured by the two men on screen.   
  
John Watson (naked) worshipping Sherlock Holmes (naked). With his mouth. Horizontally.   
  
“I just feel like maybe they should have some privacy? I mean, you watch them brush their teeth and tie their shoes. Shouldn’t they be able to fuck in private at least?” Sebastian sat up and folded the corner of the page he was reading. “What if someone was watching us have sex?”  
  
“A) someone likely is watching us have sex, and B) they must be quite lucky to be, I should think.” Jim was historically terrible at ‘Imagine how you would feel if this were happening to you’ scenarios.  
  
On screen, now just one panel instead of the usual four, Sherlock was on his back, their queen-sized bed looking lovely and plush. The setting sun poured through their windows giving their skin a soft golden tone. John was prepping him carefully, his eyes never leaving Sherlock’s face. He worked Sherlock from the inside with one hand, and held onto Sherlock’s hand with the other.   
  
“Is this a thing people do when they have sex? Hold hands?” Jim asked, his head tilted just slightly to the side in confusion.  
  
“Yes, I believe it’s fairly common,” Sebastian responded, as he watched John feather kisses into Sherlock’s stomach. “Have we ever held hands during sex?” Sebastian asked Jim, who shrugged.   
  
“Not likely,” Jim said, trying to make it look like he was still working, while he was clearly not. “You restrain my hands, but we don’t hold hands.”  
  
“Interesting,” Sebastian said, eyes completely fixed on the screen, shameless.   
  
He watched as John pushed into Sherlock with a kind of slow gentleness that was completely alien to Sebastian. This was the kind of ‘making love’ sex that Jim and Sebastian both generally avoided. John moved slowly, rocking into Sherlock in a rhythm so languid Sebastian nearly screamed. After a minute they both got comfortable, and John leaned down to capture Sherlock’s mouth with his own. And his lips never seemed to leave Sherlock’s.   
  
It certainly felt strange to Sebastian to watch this, this live porn, this very intimate moment that he was both completely fascinated and disgusted by. He watched, transfixed, as Sherlock held John’s face in both his hands, intent on John’s mouth, only breaking their kiss for eye contact so intense that Sebastian blushed.   
  
The men shifted. Jim left his chair to sit next to Sebastian as John pulled out of Sherlock and rolled onto his back. Sebastian reached his arm around Jim’s shoulders and pulled him close as Sherlock threw a leg over John’s lap and sank slowly onto him, John’s hands guiding his hips.   
  
Jim made a little sound in the back of his throat as Sherlock moved on John.   
  
“We’ve not done any of that either,” Sebastian said, his voice low in Jim’s ear.   
  
“No,” Jim said, voice distant, thoughts clearly unfocused. “We haven’t.”  
  
They continued watching. It didn’t last much longer. Sherlock’s hips sped up, and in the final moments, John flipped him on his back for better thrusting leverage. They came in silent euphoria, Jim’s cameras lacking microphones, and John left briefly to grab a damp flannel before gently cleaning Sherlock up.   
  
Their post-coital routine was sweet and slow as they moved back together, pulling the sheets up around them, tangling together as they whispered inaudible things to each other.   
  
Sebastian was embarrassingly hard. Jim was warm and soft against him, and Sebastian would have given anything in that moment to feel Jim’s bare body moving under his own. He leaned in, and pressed his lips gently to Jim’s, a finger tracing the line of his jaw.   
  
“Must you always be pawing at me?” Jim asked, shoving away Sebastian’s advances as he shut the telly off.   
  
He slammed the door to their room. Sebastian sighed. Once again, he wouldn’t be getting any tonight. He’d give Jim twenty minutes and follow him to bed, strictly clothed and strictly cuddles. Jim and Sebastian may have incompatible sex drives, but Sebastian was always required to sleep next to him, and when it mattered, Sebastian did not disobey.   
  
-  
  
Sebastian woke naturally with the sun. He was used to Jim pulling him out of bed, or waking up alone. But this morning he was pleased to see that it was already seven am, an hour past when Jim usually slid out of bed, and they were both still lying there together.   
  
Sebastian could tell that Jim was awake. Jim was dead weight when he was asleep, but awake he had a sort of grace to him. His consciousness was nearly tangible. So while he faced away from Sebastian, he couldn’t have fooled him if he tried - though this morning he wasn’t trying.   
  
“Morning,” Sebastian whispered into Jim’s hair, letting his arms adjust around Jim into a more comfortable position after a night of being entwined.   
  
Jim purred, shifting in Sebastian’s arms in order to tuck his face into Sebastian’s neck. It was so infrequent for Jim to let himself be lazy and enjoy a morning that every second of this sunrise cuddle was precious.   
  
“Do you want to try something?” Sebastian asked Jim, nuzzling Jim’s hairline with his nose. Jim flicked his eyes up to Sebastian’s face to make a visual assessment of what Sebastian was hinting at. Sebastian flicked his eyebrows up playfully. Jim nodded his consent.   
  
Sebastian kissed Jim’s forehead, his temple, his cheek. He shifted Jim to his back, running kisses down Jim’s neck and chest the same way he had watched John Watson kiss Sherlock the night before: slow and tender. He let his hands trail over Jim’s skin, soft from regular exfoliation and pale from a lifetime in London.   
  
He kissed the insides of Jim’s thighs before taking him half hard into his mouth, sucking him gently and listening to the little gasps that were coming from Jim.   
  
Sebastian stopped only to grab the lube from the side table. He slicked his fingers and looked up at Jim. His face was sleepy and content, but his eyes were intense when they met Sebastian’s. Sebastian pushed a finger into him. He didn’t usually prep Jim - he didn’t really need it, and he knew Jim was in favor of sex that was a bit rougher than most would probably prefer. He stroked Jim open, and reached to grab Jim’s hand. He gave it a squeeze and Jim closed his eyes. He was more relaxed than usual.   
  
Sebastian nudged Jim’s legs open a bit more and pushed in. The initial slide was easier than normal for obvious reasons, but he wasn’t quite sure he liked it. Jim barely reacted to it; he just shifted under Sebastian to better accommodate his movements. Sebastian leaned over Jim, laying prone on the mattress, and shifted his hips in an easy rhythm, Jim tipping his own hips up to meet his thrusts. It felt nice, Sebastian thought. Not spectacular, but nice.   
  
Jim pulled Sebastian’s face down toward his for a kiss, benign soft lips still warm from sleep, sucking and yielding. The kiss was missing the usual playful nips that occurred outside of sex, and the not-so-playful blood-drawing bites that usually occurred during sex.   
  
But Sebastian didn’t bite, didn’t snap his hips harder into Jim. The rhythm was languid, the kisses were slippery. Hands had been held. Eye contact made. He pulled out.   
  
“Did you want to do that other thing?” he asked Jim, a slight blush creeping onto his face. Sex wasn’t something that they talked about. They didn’t tell each other of their desires, or talk about what felt good or bad. They fucked, and it seemed to satisfy both of them. If one needed something, they took. They didn’t discuss. But Jim nodded. Sebastian rolled over.   
  
As much as Sebastian loved seeing Jim on his knees before him, he could feel himself getting excited as Jim crawled on top of him, as he held Sebastian’s cock in place as he slid back onto it. Sebastian generally thought that he was likely more attracted to Jim’s personality than his body. He liked how dominating Jim was, how painfully intelligent he was. He even liked his petulant bad moods, his biting comments. He found all of those things sexy.   
  
But he still appreciated Jim’s form. His skinny limbs, his porcelain skin, his dark hair. Those piercing eyes that seemed to know exactly what Sebastian was thinking at any given moment. He wasn’t traditionally Sebastian’s ‘type,’ but that made him stand out even more to him. Jim was gorgeous, and never as much as when he was rocking up and down, shamelessly riding Sebastian’s cock.   
  
Sebastian let his hands find Jim’s hips, but not in the crushing, bruising, possessive way they usually did. Just guiding, just touch. Jim’s hands pressed against Sebastian’s chest, aiding him in the thrust department.   
  
“Feel good, love?” Sebastian asked, his eyes roaming over Jim’s body. He remembered John stroking Sherlock, a task Sebastian usually let Jim take care of himself, and decided to take some initiative this time. He reached to stroke Jim, a hiss coming from Jim’s lips. Sebastian’s efforts obviously came as a surprise.   
  
Jim continued to move on Sebastian, all hips and moans, and the occasional sexy grope of Sebastian’s pecs. Sebastian worked Jim in time with his own movements, but after a few minutes of honest effort, Jim’s face turned from pleasure to scowl. Sebastian sighed. This method wasn’t doing it for him either.   
  
“I can’t come like this,” he said, and pushed Jim off of him roughly. Jim fought for balance as he nearly tipped off the bed, but Sebastian caught him under his arm and dragged him back. “On your knees,” he said, watching as Jim’s eyes darkened into visceral lust. He complied, and Sebastian shoved his shoulders down to the mattress, before grabbing his hips and yanking him into a better position and forcing himself back in.  
  
Sebastian hadn’t minded the standard missionary. Jim on top was nice too, but mostly for the visuals. But Sebastian and Jim were not Sherlock and John. Sebastian pushed hard into Jim, looking small before him, and got an eyefull of Jim’s wrecked back. Bruises of all colors, teeth marks, healing scratches. While the front of his body seemed to go untouched, the back was clearly well loved.   
  
Sebastian pressed himself flush to Jim’s back, sucking and biting at the nape of his neck. He bit into old bruises and heard Jim cry out; he made new ones and heard moans. The snap of his hips was sharper, and he pushed Jim down further on the bed, not letting him rest on his arms, but instead settling Jim’s weight on his neck and shoulders. He pulled Jim’s arms behind his back and held them steady and far away from himself.   
  
He could feel Jim’s climax building inside of him. At Jim’s whimper, he held his wrists tighter.   
  
“Oh god, please ,” Jim finally said, and Sebastian released his grip, Jim frantically scrambling to finish himself. Sebastian pushed impossibly harder into Jim, flattening him to the bed as he reached his own climax, feeling like his orgasm definitely came from Jim Moriarty and not Sherlock Holmes.   
  
“What did we think we were doing?” Sebastian breathed into Jim’s neck, his post-coital body solid and heavy, keeping Jim in an easy pin.   
  
“That was fairly awful,” Jim said, his voice still a bit prickly.   
  
Sebastian had to agree. “Let’s not do that again,” he said.   
  
“Especially not the hand holding,” Jim said, shifting enough under Sebastian to hint that he wanted to get up.  
  
“Oh, you’re not going anywhere,” Sebastian said, wrapping his arms around Jim and rolling onto his back, pulling them chest-to-chest.   
  
“You’re not seriously doing this again?” Jim asked, rolling his eyes. He felt one of Sebastian’s hands smooth over his lower back, over the crest of his arse.   
  
“This is my favorite part,” he said, dipping his fingers between Jim’s legs, feeling for where his semen was leaking back out of Jim.  
  
“This is disgusting,” he said, a shiver running down his spine as Sebastian smeared his come over the skin of his inner thighs. Sebastian pulled Jim far enough up to be able to kiss him on the lips, the slow, lingering slide of the recently fucked.   
  
“But it feels so good, knowing I was there,” Sebastian said, his voice barely a whisper into Jim’s mouth.   
  
“It takes forever to get off in the shower when you let it dry like that.”  
  
“I’m not John Watson. I’m not going to wipe your arse with a soft towel.”  
  
“Well, if the choice is between you and Watson,” Jim said, pressing into Sebastian’s kiss again.   
  
“You don’t seem to mind it when I come on your face,” Sebastian said after a moment of lazy kissing.   
  
“Yes dear, but when you come on my face you have the decency to lick me clean afterward,” Jim countered.   
  
“Oh, that does sound good right now,” Sebastian joked, knowing his refractory period would prevent any more naughty activities for nearly a half hour.   
  
Sebastian could feel Jim relaxing to him though, oxytocin soaking his brain post-orgasm. Sebastian loved sex. But even if for some reason he didn’t, his appetite would be just as large in pursuit of a well-fucked Jim. His whole body went to jelly, and Sebastian could tease a smile out of him more easily. He wiggled his fingers a bit between Jim’s legs and got a giggle before Jim tucked his head under Sebastian’s Jaw and let his hands rest on his shoulders.   
  
They’d been together for a very short period of time before Sebastian noticed Jim had a thing for his shoulders and chest - a big thing. Jim wasn’t generally physically affectionate, but he did make excuses to run a hand across the back of Sebastian’s shoulders when he walked behind him, or squeeze his bicep in the morning when they were sharing the bathroom mirror.   
  
As with all other feelings, however, Jim didn’t say a thing. The casual touches increased when Sebastian altered his lifting routine to bulk up the areas Jim liked, and it all payed off in moments like these, with Jim’s cold hands openly admiring Sebastian’s body.   
  
Jim slid off of Sebastian and onto his back, tugging gently at Sebastian’s arm. He knew what was next. He straddled Jim, weight resting on his forearms on either side of Jim’s head.  Jim’s hands ran up Sebastian’s ribs to rest on his biceps. He pressed his forehead to Jim’s, just enjoying the man he loved, small and pale and bare beneath him.   
  
Above Jim, Sebastian’s body was solid, his arms caging in Jim’s head. Sebastian knew why he liked this - this moment of protection. He’d seen Jim command his employees with authority and poise while he stood behind him, the physical manifestation of the threat in Jim’s voice. Jim’s job was stressful, and every moment he was in charge.   
  
When their relationship changed from Employee-Who-Sleeps-With-Boss to Employee-Who- _Sleeps_ -With-Boss, Sebastian had worried that Jim would object to the fact that he didn’t like being penetrated, but Jim submitted to him quickly and completely. He wanted someone else in charge during sex, and after he wanted that feeling of complete protection - even just for a moment.   
  
“It’s just you and me,” Jim said, his voice missing the element of command it usually had. Sebastian smiled.   
  
“Just you and me,” he agreed, fully understanding the significance of this promise. Just Jim and Sebastian. His thoughts couldn’t have been further from the world’s only consulting detective and his doctor in that moment.   
  
Their kiss was slow and languid. After a good fuck, Jim was a pretty decent snog, and Sebastian made it a habit to capitalize on this tiny window of time.   
  
“I wish you’d let me fuck you more often,” Sebastian said, leaving a warm, soft kiss on Jim’s lips before trailing them down to his neck. Jim’s libido was fickle - Sebastian had to catch him at the perfect moment for anything to happen. “You’re so nice after a good orgasm.”   
  
Jim laughed, nipped at Sebastian’s jaw and gave him a shove off. “Well, nice time is up. You’ve made me properly filthy and I need a shower before I claw my skin off.”   
  
“Always the romantic,” Sebastian called, as Jim shut the door to the bathroom. The shower started and Sebastian sighed. He’d change the sheets and get up to make some tea in a minute when his legs stopped being jelly.  Until then, he lay alone in their bed, feeling for only the briefest of moments that he owed Holmes a bit of gratitude instead of his usual blinding hatred.   
  
He shook his head. It was quite a brief moment.   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I need to pledge my love to [taggianto](http://archiveofourown.org/users/taggianto/pseuds/taggianto) for being the most patient and wonderful person on the planet, and reading this about a thousand times. If I could bake you cookies darling, I would. Thank you endlessly.  
> Also, thanks to [Nearlyconscious](http://nearlyconscious.tumblr.com/) for reading this a while ago and helping me at my most bashful <3
> 
> Also, I'm being super anxious about this because I never thought I'd write porn. But um. Yes. I love you guys. I hope it's acceptable. 
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](221hannahbaker.tumblr.com) where I sail the good ship Mormor Fluff 24/7.


	12. Whiskey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’d need to be sober to pull off a proper waltz. They’d need to be drunk to try. It was a catch-22.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For [incircus](http://incircus.tumblr.com) for the one word prompt "alcohol," the anon who wanted a birthday/christmas/whatever present exchange, and someone somewhere requested some dancing... I think. I can't find it :[

“Interesting,” Jim said, as he entered their flat, setting a sleek leather over-the-shoulder briefcase down on the kitchen island. “I was unaware we were having a jumble sale.”   
  
Sebastian sat in the back corner of their flat, back against the full wall of windows. If for some reason the window were to break, Sebastian would fall nine stories to the ground below. The windows were thick. Sebastian wasn’t worried. He took a swig from the bottle of whiskey at his side. It was expensive - the alcohol was warm and smooth and delicious. Not for taking shots - for sipping. He’d bought it special for tonight. For Jim.   
  
“We’re not having a jumble sale,” he said, shifting through a stack of records in front of him. Against the wall, where Jim was going to allow him to put a bookshelf (if he was good) he’d instead placed a record player. It was an old Sony model, in a small, damaged shelving unit, the fake wood laminate peeling off one side. “I got a record player.”  
  
“I see that,” Jim said, nudging a crate of old records with a shiny Louis Vuitton shoe. “You have my black card, love. You could have gotten any sound system on this great planet earth. And you somehow ended up with the most disgusting piece of machinery I have ever seen.”   
  
Sebastian laughed. “I’m glad you like it,” he said, standing up and sliding a record out of its sleeve. He lifted the clear cover of the player, set the record on it, and carefully set the needle down in the perfect spot. Black Sabbath blasted out of the speakers through the torn cloth on the fronts. He turned the volume down enough to talk over it. “It’s your birthday gift, you know,” he said, giving Jim a cheeky grin.   
  
“It’s not my birthday,” Jim said, his head tilting in confusion.   
  
“I know,” Sebastian said, picking up his whiskey bottle and taking another swig. He held it out to Jim, who took the smallest sip. “However, I figured I had a one-in-three-hundred-and-sixty-five chance, so today was as good as any.”  
  
“I don’t understand why it matters when my birthday is,” Jim said, pulling a record out of one of the several crates lying on the floor. Fleetwood Mac,  _Rumors_. “Did you go shopping in the seventies?” he asked, holding the record up for Sebastian. Sebastian took the record from Jim’s hands and put it back in the crate.   
  
“This is the kind of record player I had when I was a kid,” he explained, the whiskey bottle making it back to his mouth. “I used to listen to Sabbath and get drunk,” he said laughing. “I feel like I’m fourteen.”  
  
“You’re acting like you’re fourteen,” Jim said, turning to head into the bedroom. As much as Jim liked wearing his suits for business, they came off as soon as he got home. Didn’t want to wrinkle them.   
  
Sebastian caught his hand and pulled him back. “C’mere, sweetheart,” he said, sliding his arm around to the small of Jim’s back, hand still clutching the bottle of whiskey. He pulled Jim in close at the waist and began swaying in time with the music.   
  
Jim pulled away casually.   
  
“I’m going to need more of this,” he said, grabbing the whiskey bottle out of Sebastian’s hand and taking one long gulp. Then another. He shook his head, the whiskey stronger than he had expected, and put the alcohol on the floor before moving back to Sebastian. “If we’re going to be doing this.” He waved his hand between them -  _you and me. Dancing_.   
  
“No, no,” Sebastian said, pushing Jim back a bit. “Suit jacket off, then you can dance with me.”   
  
Jim shot Sebastian a look, and disappeared into the bedroom. He came back out in a t-shirt and sweats, his formerly combed back hair rumpled and sticking up a bit in the back. He smiled an easy smile; the kind that only came after a bit of liquor.   
  
He stepped back to Sebastian, and pressed his face to Sebastian’s shoulder. He felt his lover’s arms come around him as they swayed, only partially in time to the music.  _War Pigs_ wasn’t the best slow jam. Sebastian pressed his lips into Jim’s messy hair. “New song, yes?” he asked, and Jim nodded, leaning against the back of Sebastian’s couch and taking another more reasonable sip from the bottle.   
  
Jim watched Sebastian bend over to riffle through one of the bins of records, carefully replacing the Sabbath with something new. Jim wasn’t paying attention to the record Sebastian chose.   
  
“Oh, Christ,” Jim muttered as Journey’s  _Faithfully_ came on. “You have got to be kidding me.” Sebastian took Jim’s hand and gave him a spin halfway around and pulled him close, Jim’s back to his front. His arms rested around Jim’s shoulders as he moved them both back and forth - Jim wasn’t helping at all. “You know I hate Journey.”   
  
“No one hates Journey,” Sebastian said, giving the edge of Jim’s ear a tiny bite. His head was buzzing a bit. Jim didn’t like it when he drank frequently - he was losing his tolerance. But it was Jim’s birthday - or at least the day he had chosen to celebrate Jim’s birthday - and he had gotten a nice bottle of 25 year old Yamazaki for them to share.   
  
Sebastian spun him back around slowly as the chorus came on, and he caught Jim as the spin made him lose his balance. Jim was small, and generally existed on an empty stomach; he was a bit of a light weight, and he’d had a lot - quick. He laughed it off, a genuine smile appearing on his face as Sebastian pulled him straight on his feet again. He wasn’t quite to the stumbling point yet, but spinning didn’t help anything.   
  
“What I don’t understand,” Sebastian said, struggling to drag Jim in a proper waltz before giving up, their movements disintegrating back to their former sway in the five feet between the couch and the window. They’d need to be sober to pull off a proper waltz. They’d need to be drunk to try. It was a catch-22. “Is why you’re so elusive regarding your birthday. It’s different between aliases. I get that. Fewer things to connect them together, or connect them to you. But I don’t get why you won’t tell  me .”   
  
“Why do you think?” Jim asked, arching an eyebrow up at him.   
  
“Cause you like being a little arse,” Sebastian said, raising his own brow in a mockery.   
  
“Maybe it’s because I don’t like birthday celebrations,” Jim said, standing on his toes to get his face closer to Sebastian’s. Sebastian could smell the alcohol on Jim’s breath. God, he could tell how expensive it was just from the scent. Sebastian wasn’t a money spender like Jim was, but he vowed in that moment to never drink cheap whiskey again.   
  
“This is just a record player and some booze. What’s so terrible about that?”   
  
Jim shifted a bit out of Sebastian’s arms, his gaze sliding from Sebastian’s face out the window. Distant.   
  
“Oh I see,” Sebastian said, trying at a whisper. Sebastian couldn’t whisper when tipsy. It was not as smooth as he had planned. Jim jumped a bit, but Sebastian had won his attention back none the less. “Your rotten mum used to forget, didn’t she?”   
  
“Shut up, Moran,” Jim said, making an attempt to pull out of his embrace. Jim didn’t talk about his family, but from what Sebastian had figured out, his dad had died when he was a kid, and his mum had been useless. Sebastian held onto him tight.   
  
“I’d remember, if you told me,” he said, whispering his fake whisper into Jim’s ear. “Every single year on the exact same day, I would wake you up in the morning with a blow job, make you eggs and bacon, give you something perfect that you would never buy for yourself,” he twisted their bodies so Jim was staring directly at the records, “and fuck you senseless as the clock approached midnight.”  
  
Jim sighed and Sebastian tipped his face up to look him in the eye. He had that glassy, dead look that made Sebastian’s heart hurt. That not-Jim look that sometimes stayed for seconds, and sometimes wouldn’t leave for days. He kissed Jim’s lips softly, his heart pounding faster as Jim’s arms came up around his neck and pulled him closer. It was just seconds this time, thank god.   
  
Sebastian could always do with a bit of affection. Hand holding, an arm around the shoulder, casual cuddles on the couch, a grope here or there. Jim was more reserved in his affection - but when he wanted it, he needed it.   
  
He pulled Sebastian around the couch, pushing him down before dropping himself into Sebastian’s lap, a bit of an aggressive straddle. His kiss was messy and imprecise. When he kissed to please Sebastian, there was precision and skill, maybe a bit of thought - he knew what Sebastian liked. But when he kissed for himself, he let his hunger take over and devoured.   
  
Sebastian’s hands came to Jim’s hips, soft with his sweats, and held him loosely. He’d wait for Jim to submit if he was going to. If he wasn’t, Sebastian wasn’t going to force him.   
  
Jim’s arms were around Sebastian’s neck as he rubbed his lips up Sebastian’s jaw, feeling the resistance of Sebastian’s stubble. Sebastian could hear his breathing speed up, and he slipped his hands up Jim’s shirt. It was black and tight, and just the slightest bit stretchy, covering Jim’s lithe body like a glove. Sebastian could see the bump his tags left under the cotton. Jim never took them off anymore. Sebastian pushed the shirt up over his stomach, his pale skin in stark contrast to the dark fabric.   
  
“God, you’re beautiful,” Sebastian told him, trying to catch Jim’s frantic gaze.   
  
“Shut up,” Jim replied, his teeth sinking into the corner of Sebastian’s jaw. Sebastian groaned. He loved the feeling of Jim’s teeth. Jim fitted their hips together and rocked, his erection evident already, and grabbed Sebastian’s hand, bringing it between their bodies.   
  
Jim was more direct when drunk, and Sebastian liked it. Jim guided Sebastian’s movements, using his own hand to push Sebastian’s over his bulge, palming his cock through his pants. Jim may have been souly focused on pleasing himself, but his actions were working on Sebastian too. Jim’s warm hand pressed against the back of his, moving it over his length, telling Sebastian where to squeeze and where to tease.   
  
“Just like that,” Jim groaned as he tightened Sebastian’s grip on him - as though Sebastian could do anything in the moment that strayed from Jim’s wishes.   
  
Jim scrambled with his sweats, pushing them down just enough to get his cock out, the waistband resting just under the crest of his arse. They couldn’t go much further down with his legs spread.   
  
Sebastian’s hand came back to Jim’s cock, and Jim’s hand was back on his the moment he made contact. He set a fairly quick pace, clamping Sebastian’s fingers tighter around himself, and occasionally shoving his hand down further to squeeze his balls. His lips held their own on Sebastian’s neck, leaving the kinds of visible marks that Sebastian was not allowed to reciprocate.   
  
Jim shifted his hips up into Sebastian’s hand and groaned. Fuck that was nice. He made sure Sebastian’s grip was sufficient, and wrapped both of his arms around Sebastian’s neck, resting his forearms on his shoulders for support. “Don’t change the way your hand is on me,” Jim said, hot and rough in Sebastian’s ear, as he began to thrust in earnest.   
  
Jim was intoxicated but not incoherent, his movements a bit sloppy but not clumsy. And though Sebastian had been drinking for longer, he was larger and more tolerant of the alcohol. While Jim was on the edge of actually being drunk, Sebastian was just tipsy and feeling warm, enjoying the weight of his lover on his lap. He let his free hand explore Jim’s body. Arse, side, jaw. Smooth skin, soft cotton, bit of stubble.   
  
Jim rested his head on one of his arms, pressing the side of his face against Sebastian’s, as he arched into his movements and sped up. His whimpers were breathy, and Sebastian was getting light headed with lust. He felt a bit like he was watching Jim masturbate - something he’d never seen (though Jim had walked in on him quite a few times) - and it seemed not only unbearably sexy, but also strangely intimate.   
  
He liked these little intimate bits. He should liquor Jim up more often.   
  
Sebastian could feel Jim’s body tensing against his, his breathing going from heavy to nonexistent, as he tried to hold his breath through his orgasm. He hardened even further in Sebastian’s hand and came, lightheaded from the lack of oxygen.   
  
He rested his weight against Sebastian, his arms going slack around Sebastian’s shoulders as he tried to calm down. They were a bit messy, but most of Jim’s semen was on Sebastian’s hand and shirt. He kissed Jim’s temple before licking his hand clean. Jim met his gaze to give him a good eye roll.   
  
Jim was open to whatever - he liked to try new things, and very little weirded him out. However, Sebastian’s semen fixation was a little much for him - not to say that he didn’t indulge it. It was on the short list of things he would tolerate to make Sebastian happy.   
  
“Sit up a bit, babe,” Sebastian said, helping Jim gain his balance without leaning on him so he could remove his dirty shirt. He pulled it over his head and tossed it beside him, pulling Jim back into a kiss.   
  
Jim hated facial hair, especially his own. But that didn’t stop Sebastian from having a bit of scruff that he liked to keep at the perfect length for beard burn. He loved how Jim’s mouth looked, red and raw from kissing him. Jim’s lips were soft from their activities, smooth and wet against Sebastian’s, and he couldn’t help but whimper.   
  
“Oh come now,” Jim scolded, pulling just far enough away from Sebastian to move his lips. “I’ll get to you in a second.” He let his kiss linger, however, frustrating Sebastian until he was so hard it almost hurt. Whatever Jim had in mind for him wouldn’t last long. He’d have thought that after a year together, he’d be used to sex with Jim. That it would have gotten to a boring “married” stage where it wasn’t very exciting.   
  
But Jim was  Jim . He was so far away from any of the other men Sebastian had fucked. Jim was the only man he’d ever been in an actual long-term relationship with. The only person who had mattered to Sebastian in his adult life. And he couldn’t imagine getting sick of him, getting bored with his body, or his movements, or the sounds that came out of his mouth.   
  
Jim finally broke away, Sebastian unconsciously moving with him, attempting to keep Jim’s lips on his own. Jim’s hand came up to his chest. “No, no,” he said, and Sebastian backed off. “Trousers off,” he commanded, standing back a couple steps, and finally tucking himself back into his sweats as Sebastian stood to quickly bare all. “Pants too,” he said, a smile raising on the side of his face. “Sit,” he commanded, and Sebastian sat, his legs parting. He knew what was coming.   
  
Jim stood clothed in front of his naked lover, taking the moment to engage the height difference and making it a point to stare down into Sebastian’s eyes before sinking to his knees in front of him. He may be kneeling, but they were equals.   
  
He stroked Sebastian’s cock a few times, ignoring Sebastian’s protests. He wasn’t going to last long, and he didn’t want to waste any of his short pre-orgasm time on Jim’s hands, when he could be in his mouth. “Please, baby,” he groaned, smoothing a hand over the back of Jim’s messy hair.   
  
Jim dipped his head and nuzzled into the base of Sebastian’s cock, licking his way back up to the tip, pausing briefly to flick his tongue over the slit. Sebastian’s hand tangled into a tight grip on Jim’s hair, but didn’t force anything. If he took without asking, he would be seriously punished - he may be a murder, but he wasn’t an asshole.   
  
Finally, Sebastian watched as his cock disappeared between Jim’s lips and he sighed, his eyes drooping closed lazily as he tried to concentrate on the sensation. The second his lids shut, Jim scraped his teeth against him, not hard enough to really hurt, but too hard to feel good. Sebastian opened his eyes again and fixed them on Jim. He didn’t like it when Sebastian wasn’t watching him.   
  
Sebastian wouldn’t normally call Jim a selfish lover. He was just generally more centered on his own pleasure. But when Jim was focused on Sebastian, he was focused. Jim payed attention to everything - every breath, every moan, every gasp. His movements were intuitive, one moment swirling his tongue around the head of Sebastian’s cock just like he was craving, the next digging his nails so hard into Sebastian’s thighs he drew blood.  
  
Jim didn’t waste any time. His mouth was wet and wonderful and warm, and it took all of Sebastian’s remaining self control not to buck up into it as he approached his orgasm. Jim flattened his tongue to the underside of Sebastian’s cock and gave him a few hard sucks before Sebastian started to shove at his shoulders.   
  
“I’m close Jim,” he said, and Jim backed off, letting Sebastian take care of his final moments. He sank lower on his knees, closing his eyes and tilting his head up to Sebastian. He heard Sebastian’s final groan, felt his legs shake next to him split seconds before he felt it on his face, thick pearly drips of Sebastian’s come.   
  
If this wasn’t submitting, Jim didn’t know what was. And this was only for Sebastian.   
  
“Oh Christ, babe,” Sebastian said, his voice strained. Sebastian had good aim. He’d gotten most of his come on Jim’s lips, a stray bit dripping down his cheek. He leaned between his legs, gently taking Jim’s face in his hands. His kiss was open-mouthed and mostly tongue as he licked himself off of Jim’s lips, savoring the difference in flavors between them. He knew this grossed Jim out a bit, and that he’d want a shower soon. But intoxicated Jim was a bit more pliant, and Sebastian pulled him up and onto him as he reclined on the couch. An orgasm made his brain shut off. He needed a nap.   
  
Jim’s soft clothes against his bare body was quite nice, actually, and he held Jim’s head to his chest, their breathing finding a common pattern. He hadn’t noticed when Journey had stopped, but the record player was issuing a blank nothing from the speakers.   
  
“March 9th,” Jim said, so quietly Sebastian nearly didn’t hear him.   
  
“What, love?” Sebastian asked, a bit confused.   
  
“My birthday is March 9th.”  
  
“Oh,” Sebastian said. “I wasn’t anywhere close.”   
  
“No,” Jim said laughing. “Nowhere close.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so long since I've updated. Sorry mormorians :[ I do still love you. Hopefully the next update doesn't take so dang long. 
> 
> As always, eternal indebtedness toward [taggianto](http://taggianto.tumblr.com), the Seb to my Seb, my mormorbff and my same person. Thank you for helping with this. It's better because of you. 
> 
> Also: prompts I'm having issues with. I can't make Jim cry to save my life. I can't write about drugs because of reasons. Jealous Jim is still comin' up. Along with others. If yours was the crying or drug prompt, feel free to request another. Sorry :[
> 
> Also, I've been doing little drabbles on my [tumblah](http://221hannahbaker.tumblr.com/tagged/hannah-writes) if you're interested in that kind of thing. It's all DBliss universe crap.


	13. The Move, pt. 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not how a relationship works, James.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for [Ruth](http://rivinari.tumblr.com), for her one word prompt 'Hands.' Also for [Haily](http://thievingmagpi.tumblr.com) cause she wanted to see Sebastian legitimately upset about something - not sure how comforting Jim actually is, though...
> 
>  

Sebastian waited to start yelling until they got back to the flat - he usually saved his anger for behind doors. “This is not how a relationship works,” he shouted, whipping the door closed behind them and ripping his suit jacket off. He made eye contact with Jim as he threw it on the floor. Sod his rules. “You can’t leave for four days and not tell me where you are.”

“Bastian-“

“Do _not_ call me Bastian right now,” Sebastian said, spinning to face Jim, bringing their noses close together. Sebastian tried hard to not breathe Jim in. “You have lost the right to call me Bastian.”

“Sebastian,” Jim restarted, a little annoyed. “I can’t always tell you where I am. I had to escape for a few days. I couldn’t call attention to you while I was away.”

“ _I thought you were dead_ ,” Sebastian hissed, waking to the opposite end of the flat to get his iPod from Jim’s desk. 

“Clearly I’m not,” Jim said, not quite sure how to pull this conversation to his favor. 

Sebastian scoffed in frustration and slipped back out the front door without so much as a glance to Jim, descending to the garage. He needed to cool down. Process. He was glad Jim let him go.

Sebastian felt safe underground, where he could be a bit greasy and not have to care about messing up Jim’s perfect _everything_. But he’d kept his suit on. He felt like ruining something Jim cared about right now. 

He and Jim had a few cars. Jim usually drove an alarmingly conservative black BMW ( _hiding in plain sight, my love_ ), while Sebastian favored the Maserati Jim had gotten him as a surprise about six months after he moved in. He secretly thought it was his birthday gift, though Jim never said anything about it. Sebastian also had a motorbike - a cool retro Honda.

But Sebastian’s true love was his project car - a 1960 Porsche 365 S Coupe that didn’t quite start. He threw his iPod in the dock on the work bench, queued up his 80’s metal playlist, rolled his sleeves up, and popped the boot to access the rear engine. 

-

Two hours later - and not any closer to getting the Porsche running - he trudged back upstairs, grease stains on his shirt and pants, fingertips black. Jim wouldn’t be happy. Fuck Jim. 

The flat smelled nice. Like…food. There was a pot of spaghetti on the stove, two plates waiting on the counter next to it. Sebastian tensed. He had to keep his fury. Jim couldn’t just win him back with food. Even though just the scent of it made Sebastian’s stomach twist in hunger. 

He stood up straighter, gathering his resistance. He’d pretend he didn’t care and escape to the shower. He toed off his expensive shoes and left them in a pile by the door, passing Jim’s occupied chair as he headed to the bathroom. 

“Don’t pretend you don’t care and escape to the shower,” Jim said, as though he could read Sebastian’s mind. He probably could, actually. Sebastian thought that would explain a lot. 

“Sod off, Moriarty,” Sebastian said, and Jim’s eyebrows pinched together. He was _actually_ mad. Sebastian never, under any circumstances, called Jim by his surname. He called him sir or boss on a job, and Jim, Jimmy, sweetheart, baby, love, etc at home. A pot of pasta wouldn’t be enough to fix this one. 

Jim slipped into the bathroom when he heard the shower shut off. Sebastian snatched his towel out of Jim’s faux-casual grip as he watched him dig through the drawer under the sink. Sebastian knew he was just making up excuses to be in the bathroom with him. 

“Get out,” Sebastian said, drying off quickly and pulling on the clean pair of pajama pants he’d set on the lid of the toilet. His voice was harsh, unkind. 

Jim reached for his hand. “You’re still filthy,” he said, inspecting where the grease had settled in his nail beds. Sebastian tried to pull his hand away but Jim persisted. “You’re not walking around the flat like that,” he said, pretending to be annoyed about the mess while pulling Sebastian behind him. He got the nail brush and special grease soap from the drawer he’d been riffling through. Engine grease was tricky.  

He turned the faucet on hot, lathered up the brush and held onto Sebastian’s right hand tight. He tugged Sebastian closer to him, so he couldn’t help but press against him. Jim’s hands were soft around Sebastian’s, small but demanding, forcing Sebastian’s fingers to bend to his will as he worked the brush over his nails. 

“You don’t get to manipulate me like this,” Sebastian said, stubbornly trying to ignore the way Jim smelled. He must have showered when Sebastian was in the garage - he smelled properly like _Jim_ again. Jim’s soap, deodorant, aftershave. God, he was so close to him. He could just lean down and press a kiss to the side of Jim’s jaw. No. Sebastian was mad. He had to keep his anger in focus. 

“What are you talking about?” Jim asked, sounding honestly surprised at the thought. 

“You’re in your pants and one of my old shirts. I know you hate wearing them - they’re too scratchy or cheap or whatever. But you know I like seeing you in my clothes. I like you barefoot. I like you pressed against my chest. I like watching you work on a task. I like it when you give me attention. I like seeing you wear my tags. This is a scheme. I’m not buying it. I’m angry, James.”

Jim shook his head and washed the soap off of Sebastian’s hand. There was still grease - it was nearly impossible to get it all off - but it was manageable. He grabbed a towel and dried Sebastian’s hand, before guiding it under the cotton of his shirt and pressing it against his bare stomach. Sebastian tried to pull away. 

“Stay,” Jim said, and Sebastian pulled his hand back again. “Stay. That’s an order.” Sebastian stayed. He was bound by Jim’s command, and now unwillingly wrapped around the man in front of him. It was torture. 

Jim lathered up the nail brush again and grabbed Sebastian’s left hand, his actions harsher than on the right. “The thing that’s bothering me right now, _Moran_ , is the fact that you approach our relationship as though I have no feelings.” His eyes flicked up to meet Sebastian’s in the mirror - Sebastian was confused. “Whenever I show any emotion, I catch that brief moment of surprise on your face - don’t deny it. 

“The fact is, _Moran_ , that I spent four days without you as well. Did you think of that? Four days when I thought I might not get to come back to you this time. And you think I felt nothing about that?” His voice was always dry when talking about emotions, but his actions were more telling. He was going to make Sebastian bleed if he kept scrubbing this vigorously. Sebastian didn’t flinch though. 

Something pulled within Sebastian’s chest as he watched Jim work. He doubted his first instinct - maybe he’d been too quick to jump to anger. He caught himself absently stroking Jim’s stomach before he stopped himself. He wasn’t ready to give the anger up yet. 

“Four days, and when I came home the only thing I wanted was-” Jim struggled as he continued. It was getting harder and harder for him to pacify Sebastian with false words - but maybe it was time to pull out the big guns in order to drag Sebastian back to him. This time, it seemed important enough to lie. “I only wanted your arms around me.”

The words that Jim thought were an artful manipulation felt right when he heard himself speak. It was...odd. He wasn’t used to interaction that didn’t involve smoke and mirrors. He wasn’t used to letting people actually _see_ him. 

“Boss,” Sebastian started, his emotions starting to conflict. Jim had done him wrong. But Jim was hurting too. But maybe it wasn’t his fault. Maybe there was no fault. Maybe there was just survival. 

“Sebastian,” Jim said, dropping the brush in the sink and tangling their fingers together as he rinsed Sebastian’s hand off. He dried it but didn’t let it go, pressing himself harder into Sebastian’s chest, his head resting against Sebastian collar bone. “You haven’t called me ‘Boss’ in the flat in at least eight months.”

“Jim-“

“You didn’t even ask me what happened. I met you at the end of your job and you couldn’t even speak to me. Then we came home and you yelled at me. Ask, Sebastian. Ask me what happened. And then if you’re still angry then you can yell, but when you default to arsehole,” he locked his gaze with Sebastian’s, “that means you’re an arsehole.” 

Sebastian felt like he’d been physically punched. Because Jim was right. He hadn't given him a chance. He opened his mouth to speak, but Jim cut him off. 

“Mycroft caught my scent. I had to get out of there before he found you. Flew to Germany for a few days. Things are fine now.” This was all the debriefing Sebastian would get, he knew that. Jim was a big believer in relevant information. He didn’t offer up more than he had to. “Also,” Jim said, “we’re going to have to move.” 

Sebastian froze. He couldn’t picture them living anywhere but their flat. He wrapped his arms around Jim in earnest and dropped a kiss to his temple - his silent apology, and the end to their fight in the face of moving. “We have to move?” Sebastian was clearly disappointed. This was the first place he’d lived in since he was a child that felt like home - and the first place that had ever felt like a happy home. 

“We leave tomorrow. Still in London, don’t worry. The flat could possibly be compromised. It’s only a slight chance, but it's better to be safe than to face the Ice Man.” The weight of the last few days was hitting Jim hard, and Sebastian could tell. He visibly sagged in Sebastian’s arms. Sebastian tried to smile. 

“Yeah. It’s better to be safe.” 

“Well alright. You’re clean,” Jim said, running the pad of his thumb over Sebastian’s nails. “And there’s food in the kitchen.”

“I can’t believe you actually made me food,” Sebastian said, untangling himself from Jim for the sole purpose of picking him up, lips attaching to his neck. “I’m sorry for being a complete arse. And I’m glad you’re home.” Jim let his arms circle Sebastian’s neck, legs wrapping around his waist - though he didn’t worry about holding on too tightly. Sebastian wouldn’t drop him. 

“You’re forgiven,” Jim said, kissing him with lips that were longing and insistent. The kiss was intense, though short. He placed one more peck on Sebastian’s lips before requesting to be put down. For one brief moment Jim had opened up. But as quickly as it had come, he closed back into himself. “I made pasta because honestly it seemed like the least amount of work.”

Sebastian followed as Jim led them out of the bathroom and into their kitchen. This would be their last proper meal here, one cooked by Jim. He smiled as he watched Jim dish up his spaghetti and pull a loaf of bread out of the oven, still pleasantly warm. 

They sat close at the breakfast bar, unwilling to be apart now, and Sebastian placed kisses on Jim’s temple between bites. He’d never let him out of his sight again. 

“We’re bringing our furniture though, right?” Sebastian asked, after a quiet moment of taking in Jim’s profile as they chewed. 

“Well, no, the house is already furnished. We’ll just bring our things.” Jim’s voice was calm, plain. Emotionless. 

“But my couch was a gift, and I don’t intend to leave it behind,” Sebastian said. He understood that they had to leave, but that was his couch. It was a non-negotiable item. Jim pursed his lips. He seemed to understand. 

“Perhaps I could arrange for that to come with us too,” he said, happy Sebastian had become so attached to it. To him. Sebastian sighed. 

“I suppose I should be surprised we’ve stayed here for so long,” he said, twisting noodles onto his fork. The pasta was too far past al dente for his taste, and Jim had dumped the whole jar of sauce on it when it only needed about half. But it was hot, and Jim had made it for him. It was, in the very least, the best meal he’d had in four days. 

“It’s the longest I’ve stayed anywhere in ten years,” Jim said, and Sebastian ached to pry into his past. But they’d just gotten over a fight. He didn’t want to start another one by picking into his history. 

“Why did we stay for so long?” Sebastian asked, genuinely curious. From what he could gather, Jim moved every few months before he’d come to this flat. 

“Felt right here,” Jim said simply. “I worked hard to protect it.” 

Sebastian heard exactly what he really meant. _I worked hard to protect you_. Sebastian was the one who had been hired for protection - but they took care of each other. 

“This will always be our place though, won’t it?” Sebastian said, absently. 

Jim smiled at him. The first one of the night. “In the next place, I’m not cooking at all. This tastes awful.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey mormorians. I /feel/ like I just updated, so this one must have been quicker than the last, right? I have no handle on time. Also, this is /sort of/ a 2 part story arc. The parts were much more related originally, but now it's just a bit of a before/after. So get pumped to meet their new house in the next section!
> 
> Another thanks to MORMORBFF [taggianto](http://archiveofourown.org/users/taggianto) who continues to not only excel in editing, but also excels in her own mormor writing adventures (I promise you want to read [Crescendo](http://archiveofourown.org/works/416528/chapters/692336)).
> 
> And I don't think I've really put it out there in a couple updates, but feel free to prompt me - though the promise of it getting written is slowly going down the drain. I do love the ideas though <3
> 
> And of course, you can read some DBliss [drabbles](http://221hannahbaker.tumblr.com/tagged/hannah-writes) on my [tumblr](http://221hannahbaker.tumblr.com/).


	14. The Move, pt. 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sebastian hates their new house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Take a deep breath, guys. This is it.

The new house was shit. At least, it was shit according to Sebastian. It was a row house in Mayfair, so it must have been expensive. But Jim had been forced to make some hasty real estate decisions; though the house had been recently updated, the work that had been done on it was only cosmetic.  
  
They weren’t used to having so much space. They had a legitimate basement now, a main floor with kitchen, living room and half-bath, and second floor with three bedrooms and a large bathroom.  
  
They made it feel like home, however, by holing up in Jim’s office - the bedroom next to the master. Sebastian technically had the third room to himself, but there wasn’t anything in there. Sebastian’s couch had ended up in Jim’s office by mistake, and it had stayed. Jim finally got him that book shelf he’d promised.  
  
It was useless for them to have all of this new space. Sebastian had grown up in a decent-sized home, but after school he’d always had tiny flats. He’d grown used to everything being in close proximity. The prospect of dragging every meal he made upstairs so that Jim would actually bother to eat it did not entice him. He missed the flat.  
  
Sebastian couldn’t have imagined how much he hated the new house until it was the middle of their fourth night there. He woke up feeling clean, their post-fuck shower a recent memory.  
  
He was clean and happy for exactly one moment before he realized what had woken him up. His teeth were chattering impossibly loud - it was completely and utterly freezing in their house. Jim was shivering in his arms, despite the shared body heat, 1,500 thread count sheets and the two blankets on top of them.  
  
“I can’t sleep either,” Jim said, responding to Sebastian’s movements. “Go fix the heater. It must be broken,” he said, rolling out of Sebastian’s arms and closer to the wall.  
  
“Babe, it’s the middle of the night and I’m fucking freezing. Can’t it wait until tomorrow?” Sebastian tried to curl back around Jim, but he managed to push Sebastian away.  
  
“I’m cold. Fix the heater,” it was an order. Sebastian sighed. He had to mentally prepare himself to get out from under the covers. It wasn’t warm enough under them, but it was warmer than the open air. “You're sleeping on the couch if you don’t fix it,” Jim mumbled, but his threat was clear. Jim knew Sebastian needed all the motivation he could get to get his arse out of bed.  
  
Their new bed was too large to simply roll off the side, so he scooted over to the edge before taking the plunge. He and Jim had both put clothes on after their shower, but their heater had been working at the time, and they both only ended up in pants and t-shirts. Sebastian slipped out from under the covers, and nearly gasped at how cold it was. He couldn’t feel his nose. He hurried to the closet and pulled on sweats, a jumper, and his slippers, wrapping a blanket from the top shelf around his shoulders as an afterthought. He slipped his phone in the pocket of his sweats.  
  
On his way out of their room, he glanced at Jim. He was curled into himself tight, covers wrapped almost entirely around him, with just a hole to breathe. Sebastian could see his shoulders shake. He sighed. Sodding arse. Jim was making him go down to the basement to fiddle with the heater, and he was pissed. But he couldn’t watch Jim freeze.  
  
He went back to the closet and grabbed their heated blanket off a high shelf. They almost never used it. He threw it over Jim and plugged it in, setting it to high. At least when he came back up in fifteen minutes after giving up, the bed would be warm for him too. Jim didn’t say thanks.  
  
The old stairs creaked, and the house seemed even more empty and cold in the dark than in the day. He grabbed a book of matches from a drawer in the kitchen before heading down to the furnace. He’d only been in the basement once - it was completely empty. There was really no reason for him to be down there in the first place. They had few personal items, and anything they needed stored was stored off-site.  
  
He didn’t smell gas, so he used the flashlight on his phone to find the right string to pull for the closest bulb, before turning on every light on the floor. It was a bit creepy down there, and though Sebastian wasn’t scared, the extra light would help him fix the heater.  
  
The heater was in the back corner, and thankfully looked a bit familiar. He’d had to fix the furnace in his house when he was in Uni more than a few times, and he was hoping he would just have to relight the pilot. If it was any more work than that, he’d say fuck it and sleep on the couch for the night. They could call the repairman in the morning.  
  
He opened the front panel of the heater and smiled. No pilot. It was fairly drafty in their basement, so Sebastian wasn’t worried about bigger problems. He turned the valve off, let it sit for a few minutes, and struck a match to relight it.  
  
Easy.  
  
He tramped back upstairs, unfortunately fully awake and still freezing cold, but excited for Jim to be proud of him. He found Jim laying on his stomach, blankets pulled high over his head, leaning on his forearms. His phone was alight in his hands, and the tip of his tongue was sticking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration.  
  
Sebastian softened. Even if Jim had been a bit of a prick by making him go downstairs, at least now the heat was fixed, his bed was warm, and his man was waiting up for him. Never mind the fact that Jim wouldn’t have been able to sleep on his own if he tried.  
  
He sloughed off his outer layers to the floor, the chill before getting back under the blankets agony. He made his way straight back to Jim and his body heat. Their bed was just stupidly large, and Jim still insisted on having it pushed against the wall on his side. Sebastian had to crawl his way over to Jim, slipping under the covers and barely under the heated blanket - it had been too small even for their previous bed.  
  
He lay next to Jim, stomach to the sheets, weight resting on his elbows. He nuzzled Jim’s neck. “I fixed it,” he said, looking for a bit of a pat on the head at least.  
  
“Not warm up here yet,” Jim said, but he turned his head quickly toward Sebastian for a chaste kiss. His attention was back to his phone before Sebastian could try for a second kiss. He heard the tone in Jim’s voice though. Appreciation.  
  
“Baby,” Sebastian sighed into Jim’s neck, pressing a wet kiss behind his ear. He meant _anything for you_ , but he wasn’t going to actually say it. “What’re you playin’?” he asked, watching Jim’s fingers manipulate characters on his screen.  
  
Jim shrugged. “This little role playing game. You’re trying to save your village. And get the princess back.” It made Sebastian happy to see Jim staring intently at his phone knowing that it wasn’t for business. He focused too much. He needed a bit of playtime.  
  
“Save and quit?” Sebastian asked, pulling his body all the way under the covers and finally letting himself revel in the warmth. The heated blanket was divine, and Jim’s body had warmed up too. He wasn’t shivering at all. He was, however, still attached to his phone. Sebastian nudged Jim’s shoulder with his nose. “Quit?” he asked again.  
  
“I’m to a good part,” Jim said, and Sebastian nearly laughed - but caught himself. He did retain some semblance of self preservation after all.  
  
“Well, keep me warm while you play,” Sebastian suggested, and Jim effortlessly readjusted himself to press into Sebastian without having to pause his game for a second.  
  
Sebastian shifted to cover Jim with his own body, chin resting on Jim’s shoulder, arms around his chest. He supported most of his weight on his own arms under Jim, and tangled their legs together.  
  
“Let’s move back home,” Sebastian said quietly. The darkness around them, the lack of eye contact. It was like not even saying it out loud. Jim’s tiny warrior moved awkwardly on his phone, the controls of the game a bit difficult to handle on a touch screen.  
  
“We can’t,” Jim said, his warrior slicing the head off a dragon with a long sword. His voice stayed fairly even, but Sebastian could feel his body tense below him. Two heads grew out of the severed neck on screen.  
  
“We can deal with Holmes, babe. You and I will be fine. I’ll take care of you. You’ll take care of me,” Sebastian said, nuzzling his face into Jim’s neck. Jim paused his game.  
  
“No, I mean. We can’t go back, because someone else has already moved in,” Jim said, and slid his phone under his pillow. He pressed himself flat to the mattress, and Sebastian’s body followed, his arms wrapped tight around Jim’s chest. “Today, actually. Right before I called.”  
  
“You called them? There weren’t any problems with the move out, were there? I thought Clean-Up went to toss the furniture.”  
  
“No, no problems. I just called to check up on it...” Jim trailed off, reaching for his phone back. Sebastian reached out to take his hand before it disappeared under the pillow. _Tell me_. “The building manager was elated that she’d rented it so quickly, since it’s quite expensive for such a small space. And because we moved out in the middle of the month.”  
  
“Who got it?” Sebastian asked, jealous of the new tenant but feeling a surge of affection for his lover. Jim had called to check on it. _Jim had called to see if their home was still there_.    
  
“The manager was excited to tell me that it was an ‘attractive gay couple,’” Sebastian could hear the air quotes in Jim’s voice. “As though we’d feel some kind of kinship to them based on our perceived sexual orientation.”  
  
Sebastian pursed his lips. “So we’re stuck here then,” he said.  
  
“For now,” Jim said. “I’m not fond of this place either, you know. I didn’t have a lot of time to choose it. I thought you’d like a house more than a tiny flat. Thought you’d like some more space.”  
  
“We _were_ always practically sitting on each other,” Sebastian said, giving Jim a good squish beneath him.  
  
“Oh, get off,” Jim said, struggling a bit under Sebastian. He rolled off of Jim onto a cold part of the bed, and pulled Jim to his chest.  
  
“I suppose it’s not _too_ bad…” Sebastian started, his fingers running through the short fluffy hair at the back of Jim’s neck. “Though the stove’s electric for some unexplainable reason given that the house is heated with gas. And the furniture all smells like dust - except the bed and my couch. And there’s no proper garage space so my cars are in storage. And the kitchen countertops are formica.” Sebastian wrinkled his nose.  
  
“Yes, everything is wrong with it indeed,” Jim agreed with reluctance. Agreeing that the house he chose for them was awful was like admitting he was wrong. It was a bit painful. “There aren’t even any outlets in the bathroom,” he said, thinking about how he had to charge his razor next to his phone.  
  
Their combined body heat was pleasant, not sweltering, and Sebastian felt the calm that came with Jim syncing up their breaths before they fell asleep.    
  
“This bed isn’t half bad,” Sebastian said, finally feeling tired enough to sleep. “Though it’s about twice as big as it needs to be.”  
  
“I told Phillips to buy the best bed. And this is what he bought.” Jim shrugged his shoulders inside the confines of Sebastian’s grip. Sebastian could hear his voice getting sleepy too.  
  
They needed this - a proper vent about their house. A chance to admit they missed their home.  
  
Tomorrow morning they’d wake up knowing they were on the same page. The heat would be working in full force. Jim would hire someone to put in granite countertops and a gas range. They’d sort it out. Their new house wasn’t their home - yet. But they’d get through this together.  
  
If Sebastian closed his eyes, all he could feel was expensive sheets and Jim in his arms. And that was all that mattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be a bit of an emotional text post, so bear with me. 
> 
> This is the final chapter of Domestic Bliss. This started with no direction and no idea other than "mormor" and "fluff." Now, it's witnessed the growth of a new couple. So. That's more than I thought I'd get out of it, personally. And this seems like a good place to leave them - on the verge of a new adventure. 
> 
> DBliss has been the happy little center of my life for the past few months - really I've been writing it since February. It was the first fan fiction I wrote since high school, and has given me a place in a fandom that has become my home. 
> 
> Shipping Mormor isn't like shipping anything else - especially shipping it fluff. I can't explain it. The little sub-fandom is so tiny. We're a family, right? And I love you all. 
> 
> Talking about feelings wouldn't be complete without talking about [Taggianto](http://www.taggianto.tumblr.com), not just my mormorbff 5evr, but also just one of my favorite people. We've spent a silly amount of time talking about these two little assholes, and she truly has made DBliss a whole lot better than if I was flying this plane solo. So, thank you love <3 I'm not quite sure what I'd do without you. 
> 
> And finally, this isn't goodbye from the boys. I'm not ready to let them go - ever. I'm working on a longer fic now, so hold me to it, guys, alright? 
> 
> If you haven't yet, you can check out my DBliss Universe [drabbles](http://www.221hannahbaker.tumblr.com/tagged/hannah-writes) on my [tumblr](http://www.221hannahbaker.tumblr.com). I write there more than here at this point. <3 I'm super friendly, so if you need to talk mormor, I'm game :]
> 
> And truly, thank you for reading this and supporting me. You guys have no idea how much you mean to me <3


End file.
